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CHILDREN OF FRANCE 







THE DAUPHIN (LOUIS XVIl) 

From a painting by Kocharski at Versailles 




W Ax'tone'Gv^h^m, Mis • MargareV fctKelf KmgtonBbiV(3li 

CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


BY 

E. MAXTONE GRAHAM 


WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS 



NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


DC3k 

, L? 

.n 3 


Bequest 

Albert Adsit Oiemons 
Aug. 24, 1038 
(Not available for esebang©) 


PREFACE 


nno those who feel that history should be ap- 
proached in its large and important aspects, 
these pages are not addressed. They do not deal 
only with engrossing political events or with the 
striking personalities and exceptional characters of 
French history. 

Out of the crowds of far-off lives, certain obscurer 
groups, moving half-forgotten in the mists of the 
vanished centuries, are set for a moment in the light, 
in the hope that they may yield, here and there, some 
glimpse of human interest and enlightenment. The 
following studies are intended to appeal to those 
readers whose attention is rather arrested by personal 
details of individual life and character, than by 
chronicles of State affairs, and whose minds are open 
to the immortal charm of the past, where it can be 
realized and understood. 

The genealogical dates throughout are taken from 
the second edition of M. A. Franklin’s work, “ Les Rois 
et les Gouvernements de la France.” 












































































































CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I. Children of the Renaissance . . . i 

II. The Children of Francois I . .18 

III. The Boy Captives . . . . -31 

IV. Children of Henri II and Catherine de’ 

Medici . .. . 51 

V. Franqois II . . . . .72 

VI. The Last of the Valois . . . .85 

VII. Children of Henri IV . . .107 

VIII. Childhood of Louis XIII . . . .124 

IX. Children of Louis XIII . . .140 

X. Children of the Great Days . . .164 

XI. Children of Versailles . . . .178 

XII. Childhood of Louis XV . . . -199 

XIII. Children of Louis XV . . . .213 

XIV. Children of Adversity . . . .240 

XV. The Tower of the Temple . . .272 

Index . . . • . . .301 

vii 






































LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


The Dauphin (Louis XVII) 


. Frontispiece 


From a painting by Kocharski at Versailles. Photo, W. A. 
Mansell & Co. 


FACING PAGE 


The Dauphin, Charles Orlando, Son of Charles 

VIII.4 

From a drawing by Jean Bourdichon, (?) 1494. Photo, A. 
Giraudon 

Francois, Dauphin de Viennois, Son of Francois I 36 
From a drawing by Francois Clouet. Photo, Goupil 

Mary Queen of Scots, Wife of Francois II, as a 

Girl ....... 58 

From a drawing by Francois Clouet 

Henri III as a Child . . . . .70 

From a drawing in the Bibliotheque Nationale. Photo, 


A. Giraudon 


Francois II 


82 


From a drawing in the Bibliotheque Nationale 
Marguerite de Valois, Daughter of Henri II .94 

From a drawing in the Bibliotheque Nationale. Photo, 

A. Giraudon 



122 


X 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


FACING 

The Dauphin (Louis XIV) with his Nurse 

From a painting at Versailles. Photo, Alinari 

Henriette Marie, Daughter of Henry IV . 

From a painting by Van Dyck in the Pitti Gallery, Florence. 
Photo, G. Brogi 

Louis XIV, the Dauphin, the duc de Bourgogne, 

THE DUO D’ANJOU (AFTERWARDS LOUIS XV) AND 

Madame de Maintenon .... 

From the painting by Largilli^re in the Wallace Collection 

Louis XV as a Child ..... 
From the painting by Rigaud at Versailles. Photo, Neurdein 

Madame Louise, Daughter of Louis XV 

From the painting by Nattier at Versailles. Photo, Neurdein 

Charles X and his Sister, Marie-Adelaide, as 
Children ....... 

From the painting by Drouais in the Louvre. Photo, 
Neurdein 

Marie Antoinette and her Children . 

From the painting by Madame Vig£e Lebrun at Versailles. 
Photo, W. A. Mansell & Co. 


PAGE 

140 

160 

194 

208 

220 

232 

240 


The Tower of the Temple 

From an engraving in the Carnavalet Museum 


. 272 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 





























































CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER I 


CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 
HE rise of the Renaissance in France brought 



1 into prominence a host of personalities, each 
with a special claim to remembrance, appealing 
strongly to the imagination of to-day. 

Out of the crowd of arresting figures woven into 
that rich and varied tapestry those of two children 
stand forth clearly, a brother and sister, Francois and 
Marguerite d’Angouleme. Their memory burns still 
with a steady flame outshining others, full of the 
attraction that will always belong to those who ab¬ 
sorbed and gave forth the newborn spirit of the 
hour. 

Emerging out of the grim confusions of the Middle 
Ages, with the light of the Renaissance spirit shining 
full upon them, the brother and sister were fitted in 
every fibre of their natures to reflect the dawning 
splendour, to bear a part in the great drama of their 
day. They carried within them the seeds of the new 
existence in all its colour, its fascination, its divine 
energy. 

The record of Marguerite stands alone in history. 


i 


2 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


With the lapse of four centuries the story of her love 
for her brother rises into a beauty and completeness 
that isolates her memory from all the clamour of the 
time by a hundred distinctive touches. 

The children’s parentage was royal, for their father 
was Charles d’Orleans, the descendant of Charles V of 
France, and their mother was Louise de Savoie, the 
daughter of the due de Savoie and Marguerite de 
Bourbon. The family home was the ancient Castle 
of Cognac, in the enchanting country of the Charente. 
Thither Charles d’Orleans had brought his bride of 
twelve years old, and there, in 1492, when she was 
sixteen, her first child was born, Marguerite, who was 
to write her name in golden characters on the records 
of her time. Two years afterwards, in 1494, came 
the little son : “ My King, my Lord, my Caesar,” his 
mother calls him in her Journal. This child was 
destined to reign as Francois I of France. 

Marguerite and Francis grew up in the tranquillity 
of home. Their cousin, Charles VIII, was on the 
throne, but their father and mother never went to 
Court. The Due d’Angouleme had taken part in a 
treasonable rising in Navarre, which shut him out 
for ever from the royal favour, and he was expected 
to live in retirement at Cognac or Angouleme. His 
death in 1496 left Louise a young widow, with the care 
of the two children. Their guardian was Louis 
d’Orleans, afterwards Louis XII of France. 

Louise de Savoie cherished great ambitions for her 
boy. From his birth she saw him in imagination 
on the throne of France. In the eyes of the nation 
Francis had only a slender chance of such an inherit¬ 
ance. His cousin, Charles VIII, was a young man, 
married to a young wife, Anne de Bretagne, and 


CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 3 


a succession of royal children 1 came and went, so 
that for years there was constantly either rejoicing 
for a birth, or mourning for a baby’s death at 
Court. 2 

Of all the group, only one is clearly seen, the Dauphin 
Charles Orlando, who died at three years old. 

“ A beautiful child,” writes an old chronicler, “ and 
audacious in speech, not the least afraid of things that 
other children fear.” He was born at Plessis, and 
held at the font by St. Frangois de Paule, ” the Holy 
Man of Calabria,” an unusual honour,f or the Children 
of France hitherto had been given royal god-parents. 
The King saw all his four children buried at Tours. 
Their beautiful Renaissance tomb may now be seen 
there. The King’s outward signs of grief for Charles 
Orlando soon ceased. “ But the Queen of France, 
called Anne, lamented the death of her son a long 
time, as much as was possible for a woman to 
do.” 

Anne de Bretagne, the Queen first of Charles VIII, 
and afterwards of Louis XII, is closely linked with 
Louise de Savoie in the records of history. They 
were born and married in the same year, and Anne’s 
first Dauphin was born within six months of Louise’s 
little Marguerite. To rear children, in those days of 

1 Children of France were the sons, daughters, grandchildren, 
nephews, and nieces of the King. All other members of the royal 
family were simply called Princes of the Blood. The Children of 
France had the right to sign themselves by their first name, followed 
by the words “ de France." 

a The children of Charles VIII were as follows :— 

(1) Charles Orlando, bom io October, 1492; died 6 December, 
1495 - 

(2) Charles, born 8 September, 1496 ; died 3 October, 1496. 

(3) Francis, born and died in 1497. 

(4) Anne, born in 1498, and died as an infant. 


4 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


ignorance and superstition, was a precarious task, 
and in this Anne had little success. She lost all the 
four children of Charles VIII and again three little 
sons by Louis XII. Two daughters of the second 
marriage lived, but daughters were of small account, 
and as years went on, Anne had the bitterness of 
seeing the son of Louise, the beautiful, high-spirited 
Francois, brought up in the expectation of inheriting 
the crown. 1 

Louise de Savoie, brilliant as a stateswoman, great 
in love of art and letters, is one of the dazzling visions 
of the French Renaissance, but the real appeal of her 
character lies in her relation with her children. They 
engrossed her thoughts and filled her days. At a 
time when it was the custom of courts to confide the 
care of children to strangers, she kept her girl and boy 
tenaciously at her side. 

The girl, Marguerite, possessed a rare combination 
of gifts, an amazing intellect, linked with a com¬ 
pelling charm. The key-note of her character was love, 
a love which chose and never altered its object all 
through life. Her devotion to her brother Francois 
is one of the outstanding beacons of history, one of 
the illuminating facts that will always make under¬ 
standing possible. The early love seems very natural. 
Even to-day the boyish figure of Francois strikes on 
the imagination with a gay and irresistible charm. 
But nothing that happened in after life ever shook 
Marguerite’s faithful adoration. Through the mists 
of the ages it keeps its clearness and its fragrance 
undimmed. She set herself to love greatly, with the 

1 Francis succeeded his cousin, Louis XII, as King of France, as 
great-great-grandson of Charles V, through Louis, due d’Orleans, 
his second son. 



THE DAUPHIN CHARLES ORLANDO, SON OF CHARLES VIII 

From a drawing by Jean Bourdichon ? 1494 






CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 5 


love that strengthens in forgiveness. “ To love God, 
one must first love a human creature perfectly,” was 
a saying of hers in later years, and towards the achieve¬ 
ment of this ideal her spirit spent itself. 

Both children possessed happy temperaments. 
Full of eager enterprising life in that great flowering 
time of the world, all the interest and enchantment 
of the hour gathers round them. Stars in the rising 
brilliance of the new France, they seem to belong 
both to a far past and to the thoughts of to-day. In 
much that they said and did it is possible to feel 
the absolute understanding of contemporaries, and the 
centuries fade away in a flood of personal sympathy. 
At another moment they have drifted far away into 
the shadows, and great gulfs open between the modern 
mind and those of these children of the past. They 
hold in remembrance a host of grim traditions, for¬ 
gotten by the world of to-day, and even in their 
ancient standards of glory there is an element that 
finds no echo any more. 

The sudden death of the young King Charles VIII, 
killed by an accidental blow at his Castle of Amboise, 
caused a change in the lives of the Angouleme children. 
Louis d’Orleans, their guardian, was now Louis XII. 
He caused the family to live at the Castle of Blois, 
where he was often with them, and treated the little 
girl and boy as his own children. After a time his 
manner changed, for he became suspicious of Louise, 
not entirely without reason, and easily assumed the 
tyrant. To Louise, self-willed and independent of 
spirit, the King’s interference was nearly intolerable. 
She never forgave Louis these years of anxiety, when 
she lived in desperate fear that her children would be 
taken from her. Night and day she kept them within 


6 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


sight, causing both boy and girl to sleep in her room, 
and not suffering them to go even to Mass without 
her. Her sense of danger was increased in 1499, 
when King Louis married her rival, the widowed 
Anne de Bretagne, making her again Queen of France. 

The Castle of Amboise was finally chosen by Louis 
as the home of the Angouleme family. It lies six 
leagues from Tours, and is built on the summit of a 
rock. Already grey with age and full of secrets, 
the place formed a fit setting for the flowering and 
development of the girl and boy who were to prove 
so striking a link between the old feudal world and 
the new ideals. 

Under the united adoration of his mother and his 
sister, the boy Francois stood a slender chance of 
growing up unspoiled. His early days were full of 
the sense of being a divinely chosen being, but tutors 
were probably able to give him a juster view of life 
and of his own importance. His first lessons were 
given him by his mother, but as his powers expanded, 
scholars were engaged, among others Christopher 
Longueuil, who was original enough to prefer France 
to Italy, and insisted in teaching Francois French 
history instead of Roman. There was a storm of dis¬ 
approval from the learned pedants of the day, but 
Louise approved of the change. A copy-book filled 
by the childish hand of Francois is still extant, con¬ 
taining a scrawl of jumbled facts and a list of the Kings 
of France. 

Marguerite soon outstripped her brother in scholar¬ 
ship. Everything came easily to her quick brain, and 
she learned with little effort Spanish, Italian, Greek, 
Latin, and Hebrew, studying also philosophy and 
divinity. The children were surrounded with dis- 


CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 7 


tinguished teachers and philosophers. It sounds a 
little dull and stiff, but both girl and boy were gifted 
with a faculty for light-hearted enjoyment, a radiant 
quality of diffusing warmth and light through all their 
surroundings. It is known that Marguerite played 
with dolls in company with a little girl named Frangoise, 
with whom the boy Francois fell in love. 

In order that Francois might not study alone with 
his sister, a group of little boys came to Amboise to 
share his lessons and his games. Among these children 
were Gaston de Foix, the King’s nephew, who died at 
the battle of Ravenna; Charles de Montpensier, the 
magnificent Bourbon who fell at the siege of Rome; 
Anne de Montmorency, Connetable of France, who 
died at the battle of St. Denis. In turn these shining 
names cross the stage of history, each bearing some 
tragic or heroic memory. 

A very clear picture of French boyhood, with all 
its knightly aspirations four hundred years ago, is 
given in the story of another playmate, Fleurange, 
" Le Jeune Aventureux.” 

“Now history saith that when Le Jeune Aventureux 
was eight or nine years old, and dwelling in the house 
of Monsieur his father at Sedan, this young man, seeing 
he was of an age to ride a little horse . . . took counsel 
with himself that he would go and see the world and 
repair to the Court of the French King, Louis XII, 
who was then the greatest prince in Christendom. 
Le Jeune Aventureux, being come to Blois, sent 
forward one Tourneville to announce his arrival to 
the King, who was well pleased. 

“ ‘ My son,’ quoth he, ‘ you are very welcome. 
You are too young to serve us, and therefore I send 
you to Monsieur d’Angouleme at Amboise, since he 


8 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


is of your age, and I think that you will get on well 
together.’ ‘ I will go whithersoever you may command 
me ; but am I old enough to serve you, and go to the 
wars if you desire it ? ’ Then spake his liege, ‘ My 
friend, your courage is good, but I should be afraid 
that your legs would fail you on the road. All the 
same, I promise you that you shall go, and when I 
start I will send you tidings.’ The next day the child 
was sent to Frangois at Amboise. 

“ The Sieur d’Angouleme and Le JeuneAventureux, 
being almost of the same age and height, were speedily 
good comrades one with another, and whoever lacked 
good counsel would soon have found it betwixt these 
two gentlemen.” 

A gallant pair of boys they made, absorbed with 
the amusements, the sports, the quarrels of their age. 
Le Jeune Aventureux describes some of the games. 
The boys played at escaigne, a kind of Italian tennis, 
and at gross boule, also an Italian game played with 
an air-ball. They shot with bows and arrows and built 
little castles and fortifications. In defending and 
attacking these, desperate battles were fought, often 
ending in real blows. 

Patriotism in its modern form had hardly begun 
to exist. The ideals of knighthood, as expressed in 
single-hearted devotion to a liege lord, formed the 
foundation of the boys’ training, and knightly exercises 
their chief occupation. Fleurange, in later years, 
recorded his impression of his friend as a boy: “ I 
think there never was Prince who had more various 
pastimes than my Lord, nor was any fed with better 
doctrines than those which his mother gave him.” 

Frangois had an invincible spirit of enterprise and 
a headlong courage in all these activities. 


CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 0 


All his life he never feared personal risk. A dozen 
times he was nearly killed. His horse ran away with 
him when he was eight. He was dangerously struck 
with a stone when playing in the garden at Fontevralt. 
In the lists at Tournelles he was severely wounded in 
the hand. His mother left a record of these and other 
accidents which befell him in childhood. But she had 
done more than turn the minds of her children to 
knightly exploit. She realized that the development 
of the intellect was a greater aim. She surrounded 
the children with great Italian artists, architects, and 
sculptors, and with a host of illustrious artificers in 
the lesser crafts. Literature opened her doors to the 
eagerly receptive minds. That of Marguerite was 
peculiarly fitted to absorb the new influences. One 
of the greatest women in a century of great women, 
she has been honoured and sung. 

“ Your royal Marguerite/' said a poet of the day, 
“ has always been the road and the path of those 
who have lost their way, the door at which they 
may knock.” 

All her life exquisite things were said concerning 
her. “ At fifteen,” says Sainte Marthe, “ the spirit 
of God began to be manifested and appeared in her 
eyes, in her face, in her walk, in her speech, and, 
generally, in all her actions.” Erasmus said she had 
“ an invincible force of soul.” She was “ L’Elixir 
des Valois ,” “ La Perle des Valois ,” “ La Marguerite 
des Marguerites ,” and most expressive of all is the 
saying of an old chronicler: " She was born smiling, 
and held out her little hand to each comer.” 

There is no portrait of her as a child, but it is 
known that in spite of dreamy blue eyes, beautiful 
fair hair, and a mouth made for wistful smiles, she 


10 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


had no beauty of feature. Tall and slender in build, 
her wonderful presence bespoke originality and 
character, and all descriptions agree in giving her 
an infinite and magic grace. She possessed, besides, 
the happiest gift of the gods, a sweet, humorous 
nature. 

Both Marguerite and Francois were summoned 
to take a definite place at the Court of Louis XII 
when Francois was fourteen. “ My son/’ writes 
Louise de Savoie in her Journal, “ went from Amboise 
to live at Court and left me all alone.” It is easy to 
imagine the element of light and laughter the brilliant 
pair of children brought with them to the austere 
Court of Louis and Anne. There was one little royal 
child there already, the King’s daughter Claude. 1 
This child may be said to have been born the bride of 
Frangois, then five years old, so settled was the matter 
in the mind of the King, who saw in the match a 
solution of future difficulties, should he die without a 
son. Both mothers opposed the idea, but the King 
never wavered in his intention. He said he would 
“ marry his mice to rats of his own barn,” and the two 
mothers’ protests were unavailing. 

Little Claude is but a shadowy personality. She 
is seen so seldom in sumptuous surroundings that 
her formal betrothal to Frangois when she was six 
should find record. On 21 May, 1506, a brilliant 

1 The children of Louis XII were as follows :— 

(1) Claude, born 14 October, 1499 ; married Francis 1 ,1514 ; 
died 20 July, 1524. 

(2) A son born about 1500, and died an infant. 

(3) A son born 20 January, 1502, and died an infant. 

(4) Renee, born 25 October, 1510; married the due de 
Ferrare, 1528 ; died 15 June, 1575. 

(5) A son born 21 January, 1512, and died an infant. 


CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 11 


company assembled in the great hall of the Castle of 
Plessis-les-Tours. The King and Queen, all the Court, 
all the deputies from the provinces, and an array of 
cardinals and bishops were there. The little fiancee 
was held in the arms of Gaston de Foix, her first 
cousin. The Chancellor read the marriage contract, 
and every one present swore to uphold it. Louise, 
the bridegroom’s mother, shed tears of joy when she 
heard the terms of the agreement, which fully recog¬ 
nized Francis as the heir of France, and the Queen, 
who heartily disliked the whole connexion, could 
scarcely conceal her disapproval. A series of fetes 
and tournaments followed. Little Claude is described 
as good, not beautiful, wise, simple, sweet, straight¬ 
forward, very pious—a wonderful list of virtues for 
a little girl of six. 

From his earliest boyhood Francois had the taste 
for sport of all kinds that seems to have been an 
hereditary passion in several generations of French 
Kings. To provide for the boy’s pleasure in hunting 
and hawking huge sums were spent. Most of his 
leisure time was passed in the saddle. At fifteen 
Louis XII created him due de Valois. He could 
not help loving the boy with all his eager en¬ 
thusiasms. But he saw with misgiving, for the future 
of the Kingdom, the reckless extravagance of his 
ideas. 

“ Ce gros gars gatera tout ,” said he, noting the total 
disregard of his heir for the dull virtues of economy and 
foresight. But Louis himself had little consideration for 
the pockets of his subjects where his own object was 
concerned. Though Charles VIII had accomplished 
nothing by his Italian campaign, Louis XII followed 
his example and set forth to the conquest of Milan. 


12 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


His people paid dearly for the whim. These Italian 
wars, so disastrous to France, would naturally form 
the great interest and excitement of the Courts of 
Queen Anne and of Louise de Savoie. To the little 
group of children, Claude de France, and her cousins, 
Marguerite and Frangois, life would seem a perpetual 
pageant of armies taking the field, of knights riding 
forth to the fray, or coming home in triumph with 
thrilling stories of battle and siege. Uncertain, 
hazardous, full of colour and change, the glories of 
life had always been those of war, and the Renaissance 
had not yet taught a different lesson. Sometimes the 
grim aspects of the struggle would be brought very 
close, in rumours of wounds, deaths, and captivities. 
To the children it was all a natural and inevitable 
course, for peace was unknown. 

Negotiations for the marriage of Marguerite began 
before she was eight. Henry VII of England, Arthur, 
Prince of Wales, Henry VIII, and the heir of Spain 
were all in the list of possible husbands. At twelve 
years old the child herself flatly refused the English 
King. She was thinking more of playmates than 
suitors. A child still, but growing into an enchanting 
girlhood, she was the centre of the knightly group of 
boys at Amboise, all full of eager life and boyish 
devotion. 

At seventeen she was married to Charles d’Alengon, 
first Prince of the Blood, an estimable but very dull 
young man. It is characteristic that at the wedding 
the figure of Francois, then fifteen years old, is more 
clearly seen than that of the bride. At the banquet 
he occupied the chief place at table, at the head of the 
Princes of the Blood. After the feast and the dance 
the ladies went out on the balcony to witness the 


CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 13 


jousting, which was designed solely to provide a 
triumph for Francois. He appeared in the lists 
dressed in cloth of gold, his escort following all clad 
in yellow silk. The King himself wore this yellow 
uniform and followed in the boy’s train as one of his 
retainers ! Next day Francois reappeared in white 
satin, and his sword-play was greatly admired. Very 
little is recorded of the bride, Marguerite, on this 
occasion. 

In May, 1514, the marriage of Frangois to Claude 
de France was celebrated very quietly at the Palace 
of St. Germain. There was no repetition of the mag¬ 
nificence shown at the betrothal. The event made no 
break in the life of the young man. It did not even 
disturb his habits for a day. There was no romance 
or excitement about the affair, for the little delicate 
girl, plain, lame, and fat, had been assigned as his 
bride all her life. She is credited with a grace a 
parley , which went far in making up for lack of 
beauty. She had just lost her mother, Anne de 
Bretagne, and every one at Court, including the 
bride, was heavily draped in mourning. Francois 
wore black damask bordered with velvet. Very few 
were present at the ceremony. Even Louise de 
Savoie was not there to see her idol married. The 
day’s routine was scarcely interrupted, for, after the 
service, Frangois went hunting as usual. He was 
indifferent to the whole affair. His wedding presents 
to Claude were neither interesting nor princely. They 
were a four-post bed, a bolster, and a counterpane. 
Claude contributed the top of a bed, with trimmed 
curtains of white damask. 

The bride went back to her home at Blois in a 
few days, and her husband returned to his amusements 


14 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


in Paris. He was with difficulty persuaded to spend 
a fortnight with Claude late in the summer. 

Marguerite, married to a man without ideas, found 
life very dreary at her new home, in the Castle of 
Alengon, but it is difficult to believe that her spirits 
suffered eclipse. Never was anyone so full of the 
joy of life, so intensely alive to the pleasure and 
interest of the moment. Now she pursued her studies, 
and grew absorbed in the double rays of the new 
light—the great shaft of glory that meant the Re¬ 
naissance, the great shaft of enlightenment that 
meant the Reformation. With Marguerite religious 
belief was never a definite thing ; it was not an active 
and ardent faith in one creed, but a general leaning 
of the soul upon the mystical consolation of God. 
Her liberty-loving mind turned by instinct to the 
freedom of the new thought. Lutheranism did not, 
at this time, suggest revolt. It was an interesting 
study among the most cultivated men and women of 
the day. 

She had always loved children, but no child came to 
brighten the grim silences of the mediaeval fortress 
she called her home. News of events at the Courts 
of Blois and Amboise would form the chief interest 
of her days. She must have suffered, with her mother 
Louise, all the feverish alternations of fear and relief 
connected with the births of the children of Louis XII. 
The fortunes of Frangois were constantly in the 
balance. But the Queen, Anne de Bretagne, died, 
leaving no living son. Her husband, Louis, was frantic 
with grief. He arranged an impressive funeral, ordered 
the grave at St. Denis to be made large enough for 
two, as he should soon join her, and within nine months 
married a sixteen-year-old English Princess, Mary, 


CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 15 


the pretty sister of Henry VIII. This marriage, with 
all its possibilities, was a crushing blow to Louise, who 
records in her J ournal: 

“ The 22nd September, King Louis XII, very old 
and senile (he was fifty-two), went out of Paris to meet 
his young wife, Queen Mary. The 9th October was 
held the amorous wedding of Louis, King of France, 
and Mary of England.’’ 

The anxieties of Louise on behalf of her boy were, 
however, nearly at an end. The King’s health finally 
gave way under a complete change of habits and the 
new round of gaieties and fatigues exacted by the young 
bride. He lived only ten weeks, and then, as he had 
predicted, was laid beside Anne de Bretagne in the 
splendid Renaissance tomb still to be seen at St. Denis. 

“ The first day of January, 1516,” writes Louise, 
“ my son was King of France.” 

The boyhood of Francois was over, but for years he 
still loved as much as ever light and laughter and all 
the happiness of fresh, irresponsible youth. His sunny 
nature elicited sunshine in others, demanding freedom, 
enthusiasm, and j oy. 

One last scene, belonging in its whole spirit to the 
ancient hazardous impulses of chivalry, forms a 
fitting close to the story of his boyhood, though it 
happened when he was twenty, and had just become 
King. 

A great company had assembled at the Castle of 
Amboise to celebrate a royal marriage. Frangois 
thought of nothing but how to amuse his guests from 
day to day. He ordered his huntsmen to take alive 
in the forest a wild boar of four years old, and to 
bring it to the Castle. 

The animal, a large and savage beast, was duly 


16 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


captured, and arrived at the Castle enclosed in an 
oak box bound with iron. Francois intended a per¬ 
sonal combat with the boar, but was dissuaded by 
the entreaties of his mother and wife. He conceived 
the idea of erecting stuffed images to represent men, 
in the courtyard, to see if the released boar would 
instantly attack them. The galleries surrounding 
the court were packed with onlookers, and every 
entrance carefully blocked up to prevent the boar 
dashing in among the spectators. The released boar 
at once flew up to the stuffed figures and began to tear 
them to pieces. For a long time this comedy continued. 
Then the animal, wearying of the unequal game, began 
to run round the courtyard. One of the entrances to 
the gallery was insufficiently blocked up; the boar 
rushed into it, overturning the barriers, and in a 
moment was in the crowded gallery. The crowd was 
so great that the terrified and defenceless spectators 
could not run away. A dangerous panic was the 
result. The boar noticed no one in the crowd. It 
made straight for King Frangois, who, from his position, 
could easily have saved himself by springing into his 
mother’s room from the gallery, but nothing was 
farther from his intention. He stood out alone, 
facing the beast, “ to see what it would do.” Five 
or six men rushed forward to stand between the King 
and the infuriated boar. The King forbade their 
interference. He drew his sword as the beast sprang 
upon him, and ran him through the body, to the 
wonder and admiration of the whole Court. Primitive 
in his instincts, Frangois loved to play such a part, to 
dominate, like a hero of old, the whole scene of action. 
He was made for all the hazards, the adventure, the 
movement of life. 


CHILDREN OF THE RENAISSANCE 17 


Imagination catches the flying figures of his “ Petite 
Bande ” the company of happy girls with undimmed 
spirits who were his chosen comrades, hunting with 
him in the royal forests, dining at his table and charm¬ 
ing him with their careless gaiety. High spirits and 
wit were the only necessary qualifications for a member 
of the " Petite Bande .” But Frangois also had a grave 
strain in his nature that set him apart. At his lightest 
he was every inch a king. “ He is of a presence so 
royal/' says an old writer, “ that without knowing 
him, or even having seen his portrait, there is not one 
stranger who would not say when he saw him : * That 
is the King.' ” 


2 



CHAPTER II 


THE CHILDREN OF FRANCOIS I 

F RANCOIS was King. As if the youth of the 
world were come again, there stirred a freshness 
in the air of France, a new impetus on all activities. 
No life in the kingdom was as transformed as that of 
Marguerite, the King’s sister. From the seclusion of 
Alent^on, from the drear dissatisfaction of her married 
life, she was called to the Palace of Blois, to the side of 
her brother, not to take a subordinate place, but to 
play the role of Queen in the most sumptuous and 
brilliant Court ever known. 

Fran?ois may be said to have been the first French 
King to recognize the power of women, and to admit 
them not only to his companionship, but to his councils 
in great affairs. In the past, with some brilliant 
exceptions, the women of the Court had been shadows. 
Now the door of political life stood open, and they 
became moving spirits. Francois loved the company 
of women. He would not do without it. He said a 
Court without women was a Court without a garden, 
a garden without roses. 

All the gifts that make a popular hero had been 
given by nature to the young King—good looks, a 
chivalrous bearing, a charming, cordial manner. Well 
knowing how to use his princely advantages, he rode 

18 


THE CHILDREN OF FRANQOIS I 19 

about among his people with the frank appeal of his 
youth, his gallant looks, his friendly sympathy. 

For the first time for generations a king was on the 
throne of France who knew that the whole business of 
life was not war. Frangois I loved to feel himself 
borne along on the great flood of learning and art, to 
give rein to those almost unfailing instincts which 
inspired him to distinguish what was great and beauti¬ 
ful and worthy of royal honour. France was full of 
great names, and no man of genius remained obscure 
if brought into touch with the young King. To 
Frangois belonged the youth of Pierre de Ronsard 
and Joachim du Bellay. He called Leonardo da 
Vinci and Andrea del Sarto to his Court. Benvenuto 
Cellini worked for him. He welcomed alike Greek 
scholars and Latin poets, musicians, artificers, archi¬ 
tects. He started the collections of the Louvre, 
and laid the foundations of a great college and of a 
great library. Building was his master passion, and 
under his hand and influence rose, in place of many a 
stern feudal fortress, the exquisite chateaux of the 
Loire. Inability to read and write had once formed 
one of the boasts of knighthood, now the cultivation 
of the intellect became an enthralling aim. All new 
thought and new enthusiasms found welcome. 

But with the hereditary instincts of his race he 
could scarcely be expected to harbour only peaceful 
ambitions. He could not forget that he had inherited 
a shadowy claim to the dukedom of Milan, and his 
soul turned in a passion of desire to the beauty and 
charm of Italy. 

So, in the same year that made him King, he broke 
a universal peace, and embarked on the first of his 
four fruitless Italian expeditions. 



20 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


His little Queen, with his mother and sister, were 
sent to Amboise, Louise being made Regent. After 
his departure, in August, 1515, Claude’s first baby was 
born. 1 It was a girl, and was given the name of 
Louise. No doubt the national disappointment in the 
sex of the child was great, but Francois was meeting 
with successes in Italy. The eyes of all France were 
fixed on his fortunes. Interest in the birth of the 
King’s first child was overshadowed by the breathless 
tension of the moment. A fortnight after her birth 
was fought the battle of Marignano, a shining conquest 
for Frangois. The story travelled quickly home, 
stirring the imagination of a whole people with its 
touch of high romance, and a worshipping France saw 
a vision of the victor in his hour of glory, kneeling upon 
the field, and receiving the order of knighthood from 
Bayard, the tried soldier, the perfect knight, sans peur 
et sans reproche. 

The little Louise should certainly have been a son 
to carry on the great traditions of the Valois race. 
Frail child of a child, she lived less than two years. 
At a year old Charles V of Spain pledged himself to 
marry her, receiving as her dowry all her father’s 
claims to Naples. Even after the death of the baby, 

1 The following were the children of Francois I :— 

(1) Louise, born 19 August, 1515; died 21 September, 1517. 

(2) Charlotte, born 23 October, 1516 ; died 8 September, 1524. 

(3) Francis, Dauphin, born 28 February, 1518; died 10 
August, 1536. 

(4) Henri II, born 31 March, 1519 ; died 10 July, 1559. 

(5) Magdaleine, born 10 August, 1520 ; married James V of 
Scotland, 1 January, 1537 ; died 2 July, 1537. 

(6) Charles, due d’Orl6ans, born 22 January, 1522; died 
9 September, 1545. 

(7) Marguerite, born 5 June, 1523 ; married the due de 
Savoie, 9 July, 1559 ; died 14 September, 1574. 


THE CHILDREN OF FRANCOIS I 21 

Frangois continued to address Charles as his son- 
in-law. The betrothal was passed on to her sister 
Charlotte, born in 1516. 

This little girl, fated to live only a few years, is 
remembered in history, because she was the special 
charge of her Aunt Marguerite. Her memory is 
enshrined in some moving letters and in one tender 
poem. Charlotte therefore keeps her tiny niche in the 
records of the Renaissance. 

The birth of this second daughter was received with 
dissatisfaction, but the third child of Claude was the 
much-desired son, Francois, Dauphin de Viennois. 1 
He was accorded a magnificent christening. The 
Pope was sponsor, and sent his nephew, Lorenzo de’ 
Medici, to act as proxy. The infant, shrouded in velvet 
and ermine, was shown to a rapturous people, and all 
France went mad with rejoicing. A year later, 
another boy came to fill up the measure of content— 
Henri, who was fated to succeed his father. Two more 
daughters and a son were born to Claude before she 
laid down the burden of life. 

It is difficult to form any clear idea of the lives led 
by these royal children. The family home was at 
Lyons, but, according to the established custom of 
centuries, the Court never remained long in one place. 

Frangois, in his passion for building, had transformed 
the ancient and ruinous hunting lodge of his ancestors 
at Fontainebleau into a royal palace. The surround¬ 
ing eighty square miles of forest gave plenty of scope 
for the royal pastime, and the Court was frequently 
there. 

The children were left wholly in the guardianship of 

1 The title Dauphin de France was not in use until the reign of 
Louis XIV. 


22 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


their grandmother, the Regent, their gentle mother 
the Queen, and in that of Marguerite d’Alengon, from 
whom the boys and girls of her well-loved Frangois 
received most devoted care. Entertainments at Court 
were varied and sometimes very childish. Frangois 
had the cast of mind that likes everything on a large 
scale, and was in his element as a centre of splendid 
pageants, stately masks and tournaments. But 
his Court often enjoyed other amusements that seem 
neither princely nor dignified. The ladies of the Court 
followed the cruel and absurd Italian custom of 
keeping in their service, and under a kind of tyrannical 
protection, human monstrosities, dwarfs, and half¬ 
witted persons, whose physical misfortunes were 
intended to excite laughter and contempt, instead of 
compassion. The antics of these pitiful objects, who 
were nothing more than slaves, formed a recognized 
diversion. A large number of wild animals also 
furnished sport. The King’s account book throws 
light on some of the uses made of these unfortunate 
captives. In 1529 the King pays for a bull brought to 
Amboise to fight his lions—a horrible spectacle for 
a Court supposed to be in the forefront of civilization. 
The royal bloodhounds had a valet to themselves, 
Pierre de Sos, to whom the King gave money to go 
(presumably on a pilgrimage) to St. Herbert, because 
of the bite he had received from a mad bloodhound. 
Rather later, Pierre d’Estais was the governor of the 
King’s dromedary; Laurens Soriot held the same 
position for the ounce, and Michel Scollier for the 
lion. Dancers, acrobats, singers, players of farces 
and moralities, all who could furnish an hour’s amuse¬ 
ment, experienced the bounty of the King. 

All great soldiers, all distinguished men in France, 


THE CHILDREN OF FRANCOIS I 23 


came to Court, ambassadors from other countries, 
churchmen, travellers, adventurers. 

Every one must be received with splendour and carry 
away an impression of open-handed lavish hospitality. 
France might starve, but it was the will of her sons 
that the Court should seem the richest in Europe. 

In these early days of the Valois children at Lyons, 
or Amboise, the prevailing interest was that of war. 
The thousand alternations of hope and fear, so cease¬ 
lessly agitating the minds all around them, found 
pathetic echoes in the young hearts of the King’s 
children, to whom tranquillity and routine must have 
been unknown. 

Every now and then the young King and father 
would come home for a while. The Court, shaken 
by its distracting anxieties, would blossom out into 
pleasure and laughter at his wish. For where the 
King went there seemed to be always sunshine, a sense 
of well-being and the joyfulness of life. All that 
was morbid or depressing fled away before that 
genial and magnetic personality. Those would be 
the intervals of life most cherished by the children. 
Too soon Italy would again call to him, and they 
would see him ride away, with the flower of his knights 
in his train, leaving the little group of women and 
children who loved him to the heavy strain of anxiety, 
the trembling joys and feverish triumphs that made 
up the tale of their days. 

“ They are not pleased at your going away. M. 
d’Angouleme (little Charles) has decided that when 
once he finds you he will never let go your hand,” 
wrote Marguerite to her brother; “ and when you 
hunt the boar, he knows that you will see he is not 
hurt.” 



24 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


The elder Dauphin and Henri lacked entirely the 
grace, the generous spirit, the savoir-vivre of Frangois I. 
Charles, who resembled him in having a flow of high 
spirits and a gallant bearing, was all his life capable 
of childish follies betraying a lack of mental balance. 
Of the two daughters who lived to womanhood, little 
Magdaleine was a pathetic consumptive, and Marguer¬ 
ite a learned intellectual girl, an adoring echo of her 
Aunt Marguerite. There is one letter still extant from 
little Marguerite to her father, addressed: “ To the 
King, my Sovereign Lord.” 

“ My Lord, hitherto I have not ventured to give 
you the trouble of reading my bad writing, fearing to 
fall short, which I should be very sorry to do, especially 
towards you, wherefore I have entreated the bearer 
of this letter to tell you better; I would rather obey 
you than possess pearls. 

“ My Lord, I pray God to grant you a happy life and 
a long one.—Your very humble and obedient daughter, 

“ Marguerite ” 

For all their amusements and pleasures the Valois 
children relied on the never-failing love and under¬ 
standing of Marguerite d’Alengon. In spite of a mind 
often withdrawn into a world of its own in mystic 
contemplation, Marguerite was in the best sense essen¬ 
tially a woman of the world, never withholding her 
recognition of human needs, or losing touch with human 
sympathy. Lightness and humour were her heritage, 
no less than depth of thought and feeling. She had 
the supreme gift of imagination. 

It was an age of story-telling, a fashion which could 
not fail to delight children of any age. Both Louise 


THE CHILDREN OF FRANCOIS I 25 

de Savoie and Marguerite excelled in the art, and 
“ story-parties ” formed a great feature of Court 
life. 

The children, too young to remember the “ Field 
of the Cloth of Gold,” would never tire of hearing 
details of the sumptuous meeting of kings, with the 
figure of their father dominating the whole pageant. 

Other stories would doubtless be those long after¬ 
wards woven by Marguerite into her book, the “ Hep- 
tameron.” 

Both boys and girls were encouraged to enjoy 
outdoor exercise, and specially riding and hawking. 
There seems no evidence that they received the fine 
education the preceding generation had enjoyed. 

The defeat of Francois I at Pavia marks off a decisive 
period in the history of Europe. To reconquer 
beautiful Milan remained always his dream—to this 
he was ready again and again to sacrifice the best 
blood and the hard-wrought treasure of France. In 
1524 he prepared to set forth again. His mother 
implored him to abandon the campaign. Before he 
reached Italy the news followed him of the death of 
his wife Claude. The King, who had been anything 
but a faithful husband, received the news with genuine 
grief. The little Queen had been his playfellow ever 
since he could remember. 

“ If I could buy her life with mine,” he said, “ I 
would do it with a good heart. I should never have 
thought that God’s bonds of marriage were so hard and 
difficult to break.” 

The plaintive personality of Claude is scarcely 
seen in the blaze of magnificence, the triumph of 
beauty and grace which centred in the Court of 
Frangois I. She died at Blois. Neither her husband, 


26 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Louise de Savoie, Marguerite, nor her eldest boy were 
with her. They had all gone to Romorantin to 4 ' pass the 
time/’ and afterwards to Bourges to let the Dauphin, 
who was six years old, learn to faire la cour. Claude 
was not accorded a funeral at St. Denis for more than 
two years after her death. The body of her baby 
Louise, dead eight years before, was removed at 
the same time. Both were enclosed in black velvet 
coffins with blue satin crosses. 

After death, the good Queen Claude was worshipped 
as a saint. The sick visited her tomb and were healed. 

“ The Queen was esteemed the flower and pearl of 
ladies,” says an old writer of her day, “ a true mirror 
of modesty, holiness, piety, and innocence . . . caring 
for nought save to serve God and to please the King, 
her husband.” 

This year was full of sad events for the family. 
All the children had measles, a serious complaint in 
those days. In September, Marguerite writes to her 
constant adviser and correspondent, Bishop Brigonnet: 
“ It has pleased Our Lord to give Madame Charlotte 
so grievous a malady of fever and flux after her measles 
that I know not if He will take her to Himself. The 
King has enough to think of, therefore this fear falls 
upon me, and I ask the help of your good prayers.” 
The “ little Lady ” was ill a month. She outlived 
her gentle mother a few short weeks. Marguerite 
concealed the anxiety from the King as well as she 
could. He was in Italy at the time with his troops. 
The news of the little girl’s death did not surprise him. 
He thrice dreamed that he saw her, and heard her say, 
” Adieu , mon Roi, je vais en Paradis .” 

Marguerite was passionately attached to this child. 
The tenderest of her poems, “ Le Miroir de l’Ame 


THE CHILDREN OF FRANCOIS I 27 

Pecheresse,” was inspired by her love and grief for 
her loss. 

In the following verse Marguerite appeals to the 
soul of the little child:— 

“Repondez moi, 6 douce ime vivante, 

Qui par la mort, qui les faus epouvante, 

Avez ete d’un petit corps delivre, 

Lequel, huit ans accomplis, n’a su vivre; 

Dites comment en la cour triomphante 
De votre Roi et Pere £tes contente, 

En declarant comme amour vous enivre, 
Repondez moi ! 

Las ! mon enfant, parlez a votre tante 
Que tant laissez apres vous languissante. 


Pour soulager ma douleur vehemente, 

Repondez moi ! ” 

The little soul of Charlotte replies :— 

££ Contentez-vous, tante trop ignorante 
Puisqu’ainsi plait a la Bonte puissante 
D’avoir voulu la separation 
Du petit corps, duquel l’affection 
Vous en rendait la vue trop plaisante. 

Je suis ici belle, claire et luysante, 

Pleine de Dieu et de lui jouissante ; 

N’en ayez deuil ni desolation. 

Contentez-vous! ” 

Remote and tranquil, the memories of this little 
child float across the centuries. It is wonderful that 
her life, so quickly spent, should leave any trace in 
the midst of the passions and alarms of war, the huge 
clamour of a nation threatened with disaster. She 
died at seven, having lit a tender and undying flame 
of memory that nothing could tarnish nor efface. 



28 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


There exists one other echo of Charlotte. It is to 
be found in the account book of her father, Frangois, 
when he bestows a gift of ioo ecus, “ to the little dwarf 
belonging to the late Mademoiselle, to help her to get 
married.” 

Francois had recaptured Milan, but the victory was 
soon swallowed up in the dark defeat of Pavia. To 
Marguerite the defeat meant more than the ruin of 
her brother’s schemes, more than loss to her country, 
more than a national humiliation. The blow shattered 
her life. Frangois, perhaps more from love of his 
sister than from a sense of fitness, had elected her 
husband, Charles d’Alengon, to lead his vanguard in 
the field. Owing to incompetence and panic, he 
failed to come to the rescue of the King. Moreover, 
after the battle, he ran away. All the greatest soldiers, 
the flower of France, were either captured or killed. 
The King himself was taken prisoner. The un¬ 
fortunate Alen^on was one of the few who came to no 
harm as he led his handful of survivors pell-mell across 
country back to France. 

“ Tout est perdu fors I’honneur,” wrote Francis 
to his mother. The whole soul of Marguerite was 
stricken to the dust. To her it seemed as if honour 
was lost too. It was torture to know that her husband 
was among the execrated fuyards de Pavie. 

Luckily for the wretched Alen^on’s reception at 
Court, he rode back ill, body and soul sick unto death 
with misery and humiliation. The moment Marguerite 
saw an object of pity her compassion went forth. 
She had never loved her husband, but she could 
not help stretching out a hand to relieve weakness 
and adversity. Instead of the discredited soldier 
she saw the dying man. He lived a few weeks, 


THE CHILDREN OF FRANCOIS I 29 

comforted and sustained by her care and her for¬ 
giveness. 

Then her whole energies were given to saving the 
King. 

The news of Francois was very disconcerting. 
Taken prisoner on the battle-field by Charles V, he 
endured a rigorous captivity which lasted for thirteen 
months, being only allowed to go out riding on a mule, 
accompanied by a guard of soldiers. Accustomed 
all his life to much fresh air and exercise the prisoner 
soon lost his health. 

The chivalric figure of Francois in captivity ap¬ 
pealed to the imagination of the whole world. His 
enemies joined in a chorus of admiration. Romantic 
Spain went crazy over her interesting captive. It 
became the fashion among the Spanish ladies to 
cherish a hopeless passion for the French King. When 
he rode about Madrid, sorrowful and dignified, he was 
followed by enthusiastic crowds. All this was very 
unpleasant for his captor, Charles V. His annoyance 
made him still more hard and unyielding. He would 
not let Frangois go without an immense ransom. He 
demanded Burgundy as the price of his liberty. This 
price Frangois, though broken in health and spirits, 
would not grant. 

It was finally decided at the French Court to send 
the King’s sister, Marguerite, to intercede with the 
Emperor. It was a difficult and rather perilous enter¬ 
prise, but Marguerite travelled to Spain without delay. 

“ Whatsoever I can do in your service,” she wrote 
to her brother, “ were it to scatter to the winds the 
ashes of my bones, nothing would be to me either 
strange, or difficult, or painful, but consolation, repose, 
and honour.” 


30 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


In spite of her desperate anxiety to win her 
brother’s freedom, her embassy failed, and she was 
obliged to hurry back to France. 

Frangois made his own treaty at last. Sick of his 
long imprisonment, his resolution was beaten down. 
He agreed ingloriously to yield Burgundy to the 
Emperor, to marry his sister, Eleonore, the widowed 
Queen of Portugal, and to send into Spain as hostages 
his two little sons. These articles of treaty he meant 
to regard as sacred, except the point about Burgundy 
—that part of the bargain he never intended to keep. 

“ A captive in bondage,” he said, “ has no honour, 
and can bind himself to nothing.” 

Frangois, reared in an atmosphere of worship of 
ancient heroic knighthood, did not know what honour 
meant. All his life his disregard of treaties lowered 
the whole standard of political conduct throughout 
Europe. Yet his name was associated among his 
contemporaries with the highest ideals of courage and 
chivalry. 

Still more difficult to understand is his action as a 
king and a father, in taking his two little sons from 
their shelterd nurseries in France and yielding them 
to the grim mercies of the jailers in a Spanish prison. 
The whole story of the ransom is inconceivable to the 
mind of to-day. He bought his liberty at far too dear 
a price, but no misgiving seems to have crossed his 
mind. He was needed in France and delighted at the 
thought of recovered liberty. No harm, he thought, 
would come to the boys. 


CHAPTER III 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 

T HE sons of France were at Amboise when the 
news came. All the children were ill at the time 
with another attack of measles. Marguerite’s letter 
about them gives the only glimpse of the whole family 
group together. 

“ Monsieur d’Angouleme (Charles, then aged four) 
took it with a very bad fever ; and then M. d’Orleans 
(Henri), but he was not so ill; and then Madame 
Madelaine, but very slightly; and lastly, for com¬ 
pany’s sake, M.le Dauphin, without either pain or fever. 
And now they are all quite cured and very well. And 
M. le Dauphin is doing wonders at his lessons, mixing 
with his schooling a hundred thousand other occupa¬ 
tions ; and there is no more question of flying into 
passions, but rather of all the virtues. M. d’Orleans 
is nailed to his books and says he will be good ; but 
M. d’Angouleme knows more than the others, and does 
things which seem more like prophecies than a child’s 
play; so much so, my Lord, that you would be 
astonished to hear them. The little Margot (aged 
three) is like me ; she will not be ill. Every one tells 
me of her wonderful grace ; and she becomes prettier 
than ever was Mademoiselle d’Angouleme.” 

The King’s order that the two eldest boys be sent 

3 » 


32 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


to Spain roused an outcry of grief on the part of their 
grandmother Louise de Savoie—but there was no 
thought of averting the sacrifice. 

The English ambassador, Dr. J ohn Taylor, chanced to 
be at Court at the time, and saw the two boys who were 
to give up their liberty. Afterwards he wrote to Wolsey: 
“ She (the Regent Louise) caused me to dine with the 
Emperor’s Ambassador, and after dinner I was brought 
to see the Dauphin and his brother Harry; both did 
embrace me, and took me by the hand, and asked me 
of the welfare of the King’s Highness and your Grace, 
and desired that in my writing I should truly commend 
them to the King and your Grace. Verily they be 
two goodly children. The King’s godson (Henri) is 
the quicker spirit and the bolder, as seemeth by his 
behaviour.” 

The two “ goodly children ” were delicate boys, 
one just eight years old, the other not quite seven. 
They started next day for the Spanish frontier, where 
they were to be exchanged for their father. It was 
a strange scene at the Bidassoa River, the boundary 
between the French and Spanish kingdoms, at seven 
o’clock in the morning of 17 March, 1526, when the 
two little princes and King Francois were exchanged 
on a raft in the middle of the river. The King 
embraced his sons, and then was rowed over to the 
French shore. 

“Now I am King—I am King once more!” he 
cried, and rode away at a gallop. 

The two boys, on their part, handed over to grave 
Spanish officials, could have felt no elation—nothing 
but the blank and silent misgiving of children going 
forward into the unknown. Their destination was 
Vittoria, where they were to join their father’s bride, 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 


33 


Eleonore, andto be under her protection. Then, when 
Francois had fulfilled the conditions of the Treaty 
of Madrid, they were to return with her to France. 
The Spanish captivity was only to mean for the 
children an honourable detention—a pleasant sojourn 
in a new country, with royal entertainment, and then 
a triumphant return to a delighted France. This was 
doubtless the programme promised to the poor little 
boys. What really happened was very different, and 
the events of the next few months were to leave their 
indelible mark on the minds and characters of both 
children. 

Francois did not keep his bargain, and would not 
cede Burgundy. War followed, and the sack of Rome, 
and then the last French campaign in Italy that 
finally exhausted the resources of France. Two 
women contrived the final peace, Louise de Savoie 
and Margaret of Austria. At Cambrai, in July, 1529, 
they drew up the treaty called La Paix des Dames. 
The conditions of this peace included the ransom of 
the young princes. But it was not signed until the 
boys had suffered captivity for more than three years. 

During those three years no one from home saw 
the poor children. When Francois broke faith with 
the Emperor his action was visited on the little 
hostages. They were taken away from the care of 
Queen Eleonore and sent to the Castilian fortress 
of Pedraza. They were now surrounded only by 
Spaniards, and these not educated men, but rough 
soldiers and jailers. No one from the outer world 
was allowed to see them, and they were ceaselessly 
watched. 

After the Treaty of Cambrai permission waso btained 
for a servant in the household of Louise de Savoie, a 
3 


34 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


man named Bodin, who could speak Spanish, to visit 
the boys at Pedraza. He describes his first visit thus : 

“ They led me into a rather dark chamber of this 
fortress, which had neither tapestries nor hangings 
of any kind and only straw mattresses. In this 
chamber were my said Lords, seated on little stone 
seats opposite the window of the said chamber, which 
is furnished both within and without with solid iron 
bars, while the wall is ten feet thick. The said window 
is so high that only with great difficulty can my Lords 
enjoy air and light. It is a place where persons 
accused of grave crimes might well be detained, and 
most wearisome and unhealthy for those of the young 
and tender age of my Lords. They were poorly clad 
in a sort of black velvet riding costume, with black 
velvet caps without silk ribbons, or ornaments of any 
kind, white stockings and black velvet shoes. It was 
impossible for me to refrain from shedding tears.” 

Bodin then spoke in French to the unfortunate 
little prisoners, telling them of the treaty of peace 
which was to release them. Not one word of their 
native tongue could either boy understand. Bodin 
then explained himself in Spanish, and asked the 
Dauphin Francois if he had forgotten French. 

“ How could I remember it,” said the child, 
" when I never see any of my attendants with whom 
I can speak it ? ” The little due d’Orleans recognized 
Bodin, and said, “ Brother, this is the Usher Bodin.” 
The Dauphin then said that he too recognized him but 
feared to say so. Then came a torrent of questions 
about home, the King, their grandmother, their little 
brother and sisters, and their special friends at Court. 
Though they had forgotten French, they had not 
forgotten France and all the joys of home, the light, 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 


35 


the laughter, the excitements of the old life. Not one 
word of news had reached them in their dreary exile. 
The bitter cruelty towards these innocent sons of 
France seems incredible now. It was an outrage even 
for those days, and has left a lasting stain on the 
honour and humanity of the great Emperor. 

Playing with two little dogs, says Bodin, formed 
the children’s chief pleasure. There was no attempt 
at education. The Dauphin spent his time in model¬ 
ling little figures in wax. 

On his second visit to the prison, Bodin brought 
each boy a velvet cap with gold ornaments and 
white plumes, but the Captain of the Guard snatched 
them away, nor was Bodin allowed to measure the 
height of the boys for the information of their 
father. 

When Bodin carried his report back to the French 
Court there was a storm of indignation. The King 
and his mother brought influence to bear, through 
Margaret of Austria, the aunt of the Emperor, and 
obtained better conditions for the wretched children. 
Their French attendants were restored, and proper 
dress was supplied, but their imprisonment lasted 
four months longer, on account of the difficulty of 
raising the amount of their ransom from the impover¬ 
ished resources of France. 

Immense precautions were taken by the Spaniards 
to ensure that the ransom money should be paid in 
full. They had no reason to trust the honour of the 
French King. The exchange of the gold for the boys 
was made again on the river Bidassoa, each side em¬ 
barking in barges at the same moment. 

The Connetable , on finally parting with his charges, 
made formal and wordy apology to the Dauphin, 


36 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


begging his pardon for all he had done to keep him in 
safe custody. The Dauphin received the apology 
with the grave and stately courtesy which was the 
only thing he had learned in Spain, and made a digni¬ 
fied and suitable reply. 

The Connetable then turned to Henri, the younger 
boy and the bolder spirit, and with an equally 
serious air repeated his speech. Henri could not 
resist giving the rein for one untrammelled moment 
to his resentment of past treatment. Instead of 
speaking to the Spaniard in royal fashion like his 
brother, he replied with a noise expressive of 
contempt. 

It was an unexpected ending to the stately piece 
of official ceremonial. 

After endless delays the gold reached Spain, and 
the little boys were in France, in the care of Queen 
Eleonore, who had journeyed to Fontarabia to meet 
them. They rode in her litter through the towns of 
a rejoicing France, and were received everywhere with 
elaborate fetes. Sometimes the boys descended from 
the Queen’s litter and rode on ponies. The people 
wept with joy to see them, calling them “ Fleurons 
de France , beaux anges .” 

The cavalcade reached the Court at last, and Fran¬ 
cois saw his boys after three years’ absence. They 
were much grown. In spite of the rigours of their im¬ 
prisonment, the want of fresh air and exercise, they 
had come back apparently none the worse physically. 
But a greater mischief had been done. The little sons 
of France were Spaniards, with all the impenetrable 
reserve, the rigidity, the punctilious regard for trifles 
of etiquette, belonging to Spanish training. Four 
years of life in Spain at the most important time of 



FRANCOIS, DAUPHIN DE VIENNOIS, SON OF FRANCOIS I 

From a drawing by Francois Clouet 

























THE BOY CAPTIVES 


37 


their careers had completely undermined the natural 
gaiety, the fresh candour of these children, who had 
begun life under the sunny influence of Marguerite 
d’Alengon. All lightness, all grace had departed. 
The Dauphin was the least changed of the two. The 
stronger character of Henri suffered the most. It is 
said that he never recovered his spirits, and that no 
one ever heard him laugh. These sombre children 
were not to the mind of the light-hearted Francis. 
He said he did not care for dreamy, sullen, sleepy 
children. He turned his affections to his third son, 
Charles, then eight years old, who, not having 
endured the hard experiences of his elder brothers, 
was a boy more after his own heart, high-spirited, 
alert, and gay. 

During the three years of the Spanish captivity 
changes had happened at Court. The lives of the 
children would be specially affected by the re¬ 
marriage of their Aunt Marguerite to Henri d’Albret, 
the young King of Navarre. She went away with 
her young husband, eleven years younger than her¬ 
self, to live in her new kingdom in the province of 
Bearn. 

She who had so faithfully and devotedly taken 
care of the children of her brother, was now to have 
children of her own. She was ready to welcome the 
little ones with a passion of joy and tenderness. 
Through her children she was fated to know sharp 
suffering. 

Her daughter Jeanne was born early in 1528. Two 
years later, at Blois, a little son followed, who lived 
only two months. 

The death of this boy shows King Frangois in a 
new light. We see him at his best, his greatest, his 


38 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


tenderest in the flood of his love and sympathy to¬ 
wards his sister. The memory of this child is en¬ 
shrined in the letter he wrote in reply to hers, which 
ran as follows :— 

“ Monseigneur, —As it has pleased God to draw 
unto Him him whom it has pleased you to call your 
petit-fils, and as you did him the honour of rejoicing 
at his birth into this world, fearing that you and 
Madame 1 may sorrow at what has happened I humbly 
supplicate that you will both rejoice in his glory, 
without any sadness, for if it please the Lord to give 
you both good health any other tribulations will be 
easily borne. I assure you, Monseigneur, that the 
father and mother accept the will of Him who can 
give them others to serve your Majesty’s children, but 
we pray more than humbly that we may be always in 
your good graces. Begging you, Mons., to pardon me 
for not having written sooner and at greater length.— 
Y our humble obedient sister, 

“ Marguerite” 

“ My Darling,” —the King wrote in reply—“ If 
fortune had not tried our resolute patience through all 
these years, I should say she was right to make fresh proof 
of her power. But having learned by some experience 
that what is mine is yours, she should also have con¬ 
sidered that what is yours is mine. And so, since you 
bore the pains of death when my—your—first children 
died, it is for me now to bear your pains as if they 
were my own. . . . This makes the third of yours, 
and the last of mine, whom God has called unto His 
blessed company. They have gained with little 
1 Louise de Savoie. 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 


39 


labour what we desire with infinite travail. Forget 
your sad tears in obedience to God.” 

Marguerite showed outwardly a perfect resignation. 
Instead of funeral hymns, in the churches of Alengon, 
she ordered that “ Te Deums ” should be sung, and 
the city was placarded with the words : “ The Lord 
gave. The Lord hath taken away.” 

But from the day of the baby’s death she wore 
black, which she never again put off. 

The following year brought another bereavement. 
After years of failing health Louise de Savoie died, 
leaving her children, Francois and Marguerite, with a 
sense of desolation in her loss—she was so great a 
power in the State, so firm a counsellor, yet so intensely 
loving a mother. It is improbable she would have 
sanctioned a certain action of Francois towards his 
sister shortly after her death, which again forms one 
of the inexplicable incidents of the past. 

At one moment it is possible to realize that Francis 
is vividly human in his feeling and his sympathy, 
at the next that he is cold, hard, and implacable. 
We read with amazement that he actually decreed the 
separation of Marguerite’s little daughter Jeanne from 
her mother. He shut her up in the Castle of Plessis- 
les-Tours, and had her reared there. He must have 
known what the separation meant to such a heart 
as that of Marguerite, yet he carried through the plan, 
in his double fear of the reformed principles of both 
the mother and father, and of the chance of a marriage 
for the child with the heir of Spain. It is difficult 
to see how the loyalty of Marguerite stood such a test. 
But even in such sharp distress she held to the faith 
of her life. Her King could do no wrong. 


40 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


The story of Jeanne d’Albret supplies the most 
vivid of all the pictures of child-life in the sixteenth cen¬ 
tury, for the small daughter of the gentle and yielding 
Marguerite carried in her alert little body and mind 
a personality that was to leave its mark upon her 
country. After the death of the little brother no other 
child came to the Queen of Navarre to dispute Jeanne’s 
sovereignty, for the twin sons born in 1540 did not 
outlive the first hours of babyhood. The child was 
always passionately determined to have her own way. 
Her wilfulness must have had its attractive aspect, 
for she was known as “ The Darling of Kings,” 
because her father, the King of Navarre, and her 
uncle, Frangois I, petted and indulged her. The 
figure of Jeanne is much more definite and clear than 
those of any other royal children of her century. 
All her ideas were fixed. She knew what she wanted, 
and showed excessive resolution in getting it, if she 
could. Her mind was a stranger to the speculative 
thoughts of Marguerite. Her young judgment saw 
everything plainly defined. She absorbed the new 
ideas of reform without misgiving, and clung to them 
austerely all her life. 

At eleven years old Francois decided to marry her 
to the due de Cleves, an ally of his own, with a claim 
to the Spanish crown. Jeanne flatly refused. " I 
would rather throw myself into a well,” she assured 
him. Frangois, with all his persuasive charm, could not 
shake her resolution, so he sent her home to her parents, 
with instructions that the marriage must be arranged. 
Marguerite does not come out very well at this point 
in her story. It is said she allowed the child to be 
beaten till she consented. If this be true of the most 
humane and enlightened woman of her day, it is 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 


41 


evidence that her devotion to her brother had reached 
the point of insanity. The little girl called together 
the chief officers of her household and read a solemn 
protestation. Nothing helped, and the ceremony of 
marriage took place in the ball-room at Chatellerault. 
Jeanne rebelled to the last, and had to be carried to 
the spot. She went home with her parents after the 
wedding. In the end she triumphed, for the due de 
Cleves broke faith with Francois, who thereupon 
got the marriage annulled, and Jeanne was left in 
peace. 

Soon she was to play a conspicuous part in the 
unfolding drama of France, for Jeanne was fated to 
marry Antoine de Bourbon, and to be the mother of 
the great Henri IV of France. 

Marriage projects for his own children soon en¬ 
grossed the mind of Francis. Before his little son 
Henri had left his Spanish prison he was the object 
of political intrigue. Frangois had by no means lost his 
passion for Italy. It suited him at the moment to force 
an alliance with the Pope, Clement VII, and so regain 
a footing there. The Pope had control of a valuable 
asset in the person of an orphan cousin, whom he called 
his niece, the young daughter of Lorenzo de’ Medici. 
Frangois of France proposed as her bridegroom his 
second son Henri. The Dauphin was still unmarried. 
Doubtless there were schemes for a marriage of Euro¬ 
pean importance for the heir to the great kingdom of 
France, but an inferior match, if a large fortune went 
with it, would do for the younger son. After endless 
negotiations the scheme took shape in 1531. Henri 
was fourteen years old, and the bride Catherine was 
within a few days exactly the same age, when the 
marriage was celebrated at Marseilles, 28 October, 


42 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


1533. A brilliant company assembled to witness 
the first wedding in the royal family. The boy 
bridegroom, with his fine dark eyes and straight 
features, sombre and aloof, made little impression. 
The personality of the little bride, pale, slight, and 
silent, was lost in the dazzling array of the great powers 
of Church and State blossoming into magnificence of 
ceremonial. Imagination sees only the sumptuous 
figures of King Francois and the Pope, throwing all 
others into the shade. Little dreamed any of the 
throng who watched the pageant that in the person 
of the silent girl-bride Italy had sent a great power to 
France, a commanding intellect, an imperial will that 
was to control the fortunes not only of the Valois 
family, but of the whole nation, and profoundly affect 
the politics of Europe. 

After the wedding, Catherine de’ Medici took her 
quiet place in the family. The young couple had no 
establishment of their own, but shared that of the 
Dauphin and Charles, due d’Angouleme, at Amboise 
or Blois or Fontainebleau. Catherine even shared 
her personal attendants with her little sisters-in-law, 
Magdaleine and Marguerite. This would seem no 
hardship to Catherine, for all were boys and girls 
together, too busy with amusements and play to 
trouble about questions of Court etiquette. 

Catherine has been described as “ very submissive.” 
No one ever penetrated to the depth of that strong and 
secret nature, or in those early days suspected the 
burning ambitions of her soul. She was yielding and 
unassertive because intuition taught her that sub¬ 
mission was the strongest weapon at the moment. 
Completely winning the heart of her husband’s 
father, the King, by her quiet wit, her tact, her 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 43 

love of hunting, she became his constant com¬ 
panion. 

Catherine de’ Medici invented the present mode of 
side-saddle with the pommel. Before this women 
when riding had their feet on a board hung from the 
saddle. She also introduced the wearing of tightly 
drawn silk stockings, which had been unknown. She 
was herself proud of a very shapely leg, which these 
fashions were designed to exhibit. 

Soon she was a member of his “ Petite Bande ” of gay, 
high-spirited girls. Craft taught her to laugh with the 
rest, though her laughter did not come from the depth 
of her nature. To please the King, to make herself a 
desired companion, she showed a gallant spirit. Fran¬ 
cois, with his large-hearted protection, would be needed 
ere long. To win him as a champion was for the 
moment of far greater importance than to win her 
husband Henri, the silent, morose boy, with his Spanish 
instincts, his slow development, his cold, repellent 
manner. 

Another break in the royal family came in the year 
1536, not a marriage this time, but a crushing blow 
for the King and the nation—the death of the eldest 
son of France. 

Francois was once more at war with the Emperor 
Charles, who had invaded Provence. The King left 
Lyons, where the Court was then in residence, and 
went to Valence to be at hand if it became necessary 
to take the field. 

The young Dauphin Francois, then a boy of nineteen, 
was all anxiety to take part in the campaign. He was 
left at Lyons, where he eagerly awaited the order to 
join the forces. 

It came at last. The day before he was to start he 


44 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


was at the Chateau of Tournon playing a game of tennis. 
The day was hot, and he asked one of his pages to bring 
him water from a well. The page fetched the water in 
a Portuguese pitcher said to be made of a peculiar clay 
which kept water cool, and yet prevented any in¬ 
jurious effect. The Dauphin, tired and overheated, 
put the pitcher to his lips and drank almost the whole 
contents at a draught. He was almost immediately 
seized with severe illness, which ended fatally in a few 
days. 

At first no one dared to tell the King. It was 
known that the death of the boy would cause him an 
intense and lasting sorrow, and indeed his spirits 
never wholly recovered the blow. In Europe at this 
time, suspicion of poison always attached to any 
sudden death, or to one that happened without a very 
clearly defined cause. Modern science would easily 
account for the poor boy’s fatal illness, but three 
hundred and fifty years ago, if any doubt arose, it 
was usual to fix blame on some one. In this case 
suspicion of having used Spanish poison fell on an 
unfortunate and doubtless innocent companion of 
the Dauphin, Count Sebastiano di Montecuculi, his cup¬ 
bearer, who was barbarously executed two months later. 

Henri was now the heir of France. “ He seems all 
nerve, he seems so strong and tall,” says a Venetian 
ambassador, “ but he is dark, pallid, livid, even green, 
and it is said he was never seen to laugh a hearty laugh. 
Still he is, in his way, a good companion to his own 
friends, and loves the liveliness of his younger brother. 
He has a small head, large eyes looking down, thin 
temples, and a narrow forehead. He is brave, and 
loves hunting and fighting; and he is very religious, 
and will not ride on Sundays.” 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 


45 


Frangois was at Lyons with his family, bitterly 
grieving for the death of his son. He roused himself 
to take an interest in negotiations for the marriage of 
his eldest surviving girl, the pretty and fragile Magda- 
leine, whose short career forms one of the most pathetic 
stories of all the Children of France. She was born 
immediately after the “ Field of the Cloth of Gold.” 
Her first misfortune was the death of her mother, 
Queen Claude, when she was four. In the same year 
there was a proposal to betroth her to J ames V, the 
young King of Scots, who was thirteen years old. The 
defeat of Pavia showed the weakness of France, sur¬ 
rounded by enemies, and in the eyes of the Scottish 
nation altered the importance of the French King’s 
daughter. The idea of the marriage was abandoned. 
Years afterwards, in 1533, when King James was in 
France on other business, it is said the Dauphin Henri 
met him by chance, and brought him to Lyons, hoping 
the gay humour of the young man might help Frangois 
to shake off his depression. In this way James and 
Magdaleine met for the first time. Magdaleine’s 
heart surrendered at once to a suitor so gallant and 
handsome, with such endearing ways, and invested 
with all the romantic charm attaching to his unknown 
northern kingdom. James appeared in great magnifi¬ 
cence, his dress rivalling in reckless luxury those of the 
most splendid of the French courtiers. In joust and 
tournament he proved himself a match for the strongest 
and most skilful. He was a hero of romance, an ideal 
knight, in the eyes of the ardent girl. Her health at 
the time was so bad that her father suggested be¬ 
trothing James to Marguerite, his younger daughter, 
who was, according to a Scottish chronicler, " ane 
young lady of pleasant beauty, goodly favour, and 


46 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


comely manners.” But James would have none but 
Magdaleine. 

The marriage contract of King James and Magda¬ 
leine was signed at Blois, 26 November, 1536. The 
fragile bride glowed with happiness. She loved 
James, an unusual circumstance in royal marriages, 
and also her girlish ambition was satisfied. " I shall 
be a Queen,” she said. She looked eagerly forward 
to the adventure of a new life in a new country. They 
were married in Notre-Dame, 1 January, 1537. All the 
royalty and nobility of France were present, and many 
courtiers from Scotland. Magdaleine made a dainty 
picture on her wedding-day, with her small, delicate 
features and long throat, in the setting of her gorgeous 
dress. She wore white damask embroidered with 
gold, finished at the throat with a double ruff and a 
collar of precious stones. Her girdle was all of gems. 
She wore a cap formed of a network of pearls and 
precious stones, and a necklace of large pearls. The 
bridegroom’s attire certainly did not reflect the ex¬ 
treme poverty of Scotland. He wore a mantle of dark 
blue velvet, trimmed with sable, and hose of white 
satin, making a splendid appearance. The brides¬ 
maids wore white and gold, with green sleeves. 

The bridal song was written by Ronsard, then a 
page in the royal family. 

James and his bride remained in France for four 
months after the wedding—four months of fetes, of 
splendid gifts, of enthusiastic welcome on all hands. 
Everywhere Magdaleine in her youth and pathetic 
fragility made a strong appeal to the sympathies and 
affection of the people. The gallant air of the King 
of Scots won their hearts. Blossoming out into 
capacity for deep enjoyment, the delicate girl found 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 


47 


herself for the first time a centre of interest. Her 
innocent wish was fulfilled. She was a Queen. 

The time came to carry her away to her husband’s 
grey kingdom of the North. With her Maries (as the 
maids of honour were called), her poet Ronsard, her 
husband, and her escort, the French Princess and 
Scottish Queen landed at Leith in Scotland on 19 May, 
1537. The bride knelt, as soon as she landed, and 
kissed the soil. A strong emotion filled the hearts of 
her Scottish subjects. She was called “ the pleasant 
Magdaleine,” " the sweet Flower of France.” She 
passed to the royal palace of Holyrood. It was a cold, 
damp spring, and it is unlikely that the ancient palace 
held many of even such luxuries as were known to 
France in the sixteenth century. She was determined 
to be happy, unlike her Maries, who were very dis¬ 
contented with the Scots simplicity of life; but the 
climate soon brought an accession of ill-health. Change 
of air to St. Andrews was advised, and she was removed 
to the Abbey of Balmerino on the Firth of Tay. But 
the King could not leave Edinburgh at the time, and 
she could not bear to stay away from him. She 
returned to Holyrood. Her father sent his own 
physician from France, but she was beyond all aid. 
The young King, with the clear sight of devoted love, 
realized her condition. He shut himself up with the 
sick girl until the end, and she had the happiness of 
knowing and proving his deep affection. On 10 July, 
1537, she died, forty days after landing in Scotland, 
and was buried in the chapel of Holyrood. She was 
sixteen years old. 

Such is the short and poignant story of Magdaleine. 

One of the very few Children of France who ever 
knew personal and unclouded happiness, the news 


48 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


of her death brought bitter grief to the sad Court of 
her father Francis. A cloud of melancholy, cold, 
stern, estranging, settled over his once radiant 
spirit. 

He sent for his sister Marguerite. She came to the 
Louvre from Alengon, roused him from his torpor, and 
by the very energy of her love forced him to take his 
place again at the helm of State. She set herself to 
amuse and distract his mind, and in a hundred ways of 
love and sympathy succeeded in calming his nervous 
restlessness. It was to dispel the frightful clouds of 
melancholy that darkened his existence that she wrote 
the “ Heptameron,” a book which has given her a place 
among the immortals. Stories had always amused 
Frangois, and Marguerite had always possessed a 
singular talent for telling them. Now she gathered 
all her best stories into a volume for his benefit. They 
fulfilled their purpose, for he liked to hear the stories 
read. 

The darkest of all his tragedies was to overshadow 
the King’s closing years. 

Boulogne had been captured by the English. 
Frangois, naturally anxious to recover so important a 
place, sent his sons, the Dauphin and Charles, to besiege 
it, and went himself to the Abbey of Faremoutiers, 
near Abbeville, to await events. 

The plague raged outside Boulogne. Hundreds of 
soldiers were dying daily, and the dreadful illness, 
unchecked by any attempt at sanitary measures, was 
spreading through the country. The village of Fare¬ 
moutiers was within the infected area. There happened 
to be no room in the Abbey for the due d’Orleans, 
and it was necessary to lodge him and his followers 
in a house in the village. Charles was not pleased 


THE BOY CAPTIVES 


49 


with the quarters assigned to him. He felt sure there 
must be larger rooms in the house than those placed 
at his disposal, and making a further inspection, 
discovered a fine suite of apartments, apparently 
unoccupied. The young man announced his inten¬ 
tion of taking possession of these, when his host inter¬ 
vened, begging him not to go near the rooms, as 
several persons had died there of the plague. Charles 
broke into one of his madcap fits of high spirits and 
irresponsible folly. “ Never a son of France has 
died of the plague ! ” he cried, and to show how little 
he feared, he called to his companions, and drawing 
his sword, ran it through the mattress of a bed. The 
others tossed the pillows on their swords from one to 
the other. The feathers flew thickly in all directions, 
covering the laughing group. 

Charles slept in this room that night. He woke 
after two hours’ sleep and called for help. " I am ill; 
it is the plague, and I shall die.” He lived for three 
days. At last his father insisted on braving the 
contagion and going to the dying bed of his favourite 
child. “ Ah, Sire, I am dying ! But now that I see 
you again, I die content.” The King was carried from 
the room in a fainting condition as soon as Charles 
breathed his last. He was twenty-three, the best- 
beloved, the handsomest, most reckless, most princely 
of the Valois children. The stricken King never 
recovered the blow. He survived his son only a few 
months. 

In the convent at Tusson the Queen of Navarre 
was spending the season of Lent in retreat. One 
night, early in April, she dreamed that the King stood 
at her bedside and cried twice, " My sister, my sister ! ” 
So vivid was the dream, that in an agony of anxiety 
4 


50 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


she sent messengers to bring back news of the King. 
He had been dead a fortnight before anyone dared to 
tell her. The vision had again appeared to her, and 
she learned the truth at last from a poor crazy nun. 

Marguerite outlived her brother for two years, 
dying at the Chateau d’O-det, 21 December, 1549. 
Her body lies in the cathedral at Lescar. 

Perhaps she guessed how she would shine in time 
to come as a woman who played a part in great affairs, 
who in a hard age was devoted to freedom, tolerance, 
and compassion. But she did not know how beautiful 
and rare a light her memory would yield through all 
time, how unequalled in all the pages of history 
would be the record of her undying love and faith. 



CHAPTER IV 

CHILDREN OF HENRI II AND CATHERINE 
DE’ MEDICI 

T HE children of Frangois I, delicate, elusive little 
shadows, flitting here and there across the stage of 
history, are seen now in the light of ancient heroic 
days, now in the clearer flame of the great awakening. 
But the pure light of the Renaissance had begun to 
flicker unsteadily when another generation of Valois 
boys and girls came upon the scene. 

The children of Henri II and Catherine de’ Medici 
were born to a different inheritance. Their little figures, 
so much more clearly outlined in a time of richer 
historical material, give a definite and detailed impres¬ 
sion, but it is no longer possible to feel the warm, clear 
airs of old France blowing through the records of 
their days. The ancient chivalric grace, the sunlit 
glimpses, half-tender tradition and half-dream, are 
alike gone. Something much more sharply defined 
has come instead, something more stern, more sombre, 
more momentous. The playtime of the world is over. 

The children were born under the shadow of a com¬ 
manding personality, from which they were fated 
never wholly to emerge. 

History has written across the record of Catherine 

de’ Medici a mark of infamy which will never be effaced. 
51 


52 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


She will always remain a dark, clear-cut figure thrown 
against the stormy background of her day. 

It should in justice be remembered that she had a 
great deal to bear, and bore it stoically. A woman of 
huge ambitions, subjected through all the best years 
of her life to a bitter burden of humiliation, without 
guiding principles, without religion, was not likely, 
when the power was at last within reach, to use it 
for any but pitiless ends. 

It was the private tragedy of Catherine’s life that 
she loved her husband Henri and was never loved in 
return. 

“ I loved him so much that I was always afraid of 
him,” she wrote once. Only during the first three 
years of their marriage could there have been any hope 
of capturing his affections, for at the end of that time 
the wife of seventeen saw herself definitely supplanted. 
The cold sense of disappointment spoilt even the 
earliest years. No child came to help Catherine to 
gain Henri’s favour. There was a galling sense, too, 
that whether she had a child or not mattered little to 
anyone, for France looked to the still unmated Dauphin 
Francois as the hope of the nation. From the Dauphin 
would surely descend new sons of the kingly race of 
Valois. 

The year 1536 was full of momentous events for 
Catherine. In August, as we have seen, the young 
Dauphin died, still unwed. In a moment Catherine 
leapt into the position of importance so dear to her 
soul. She was no longer Duchesse d’Orleans, but 
Dauphine of France. Perhaps she hoped, even now, 
in the flush of new interests and ambitions, again 
to lay siege to the cold heart of Henri, to claim her just 
part in the new life opening before them. This hope 


CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


53 


was definitely cut off. The same year that saw the 
death of the Dauphin Francois saw the advent of 
Diane de Poitiers. 

History has credited Diane with the strange haunt¬ 
ing beauty that belongs to the women of the Renaiss¬ 
ance. With an exquisite pallor, a grave and remote 
expression, sedate and dignified, clad in unvarying 
black and white that marked her widowhood, she 
never made any attempt to compete with the fresh 
attractions of younger women. She relied rather on 
some matchless quality which the years could not 
touch. The new moon was her emblem, clear, cold, 
remote, yet radiating a mysterious enchantment. 
Catherine witnessed her husband’s complete absorption 
into the life of this fascinating rival. Diane was 
thirty-seven and Henri barely seventeen. Surely, 
thought Catherine, it was an infatuation that could 
not last, the brief flame of an ignorant youth for 
the cultivated woman of the world. Catherine 
was seventeen herself, and thirty-seven seemed a 
great age. In her eyes Diane was not even 
beautiful. It was incredible, impossible, that the 
siren should hold her victim more than a month, a 
year, a little period of blind adoration. 

But the incredible and the impossible happened. 
The star of Diane grew brighter with the passing of 
time, and remained in the ascendant for twenty-two 
years. The death of Henri alone extinguished it. 

All the time the sorrow of Catherine’s soul was 
growing. The years were passing, and still no royal 
children came. And now France took heed of her 
vexation and shared her disappointment. All the 
splendours of her future position would be lost if she 
gave no heirs to the throne. Moreover, there were 


54 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


murmurs throughout the country that if the Florentine 
had no child, the marriage should be annulled. These 
rumours reached the unhappy Catherine. The 
moment had come when Francis must help her. 
She threw herself at his feet and won his promise that 
the marriage should stand. The relief was but mo¬ 
mentary, and life soon resumed its dreary outlook. 
Francis could save her now, but the time was coming 
when he would not be there, when her husband Henri 
would be King, and at the word of Diane he would 
perhaps repudiate his childless Queen. 

Then suddenly her whole world changed. The drear 
skies lifted, and the flood of Catherine’s ambition was 
loosed again. After ten years of marriage there came 
the promise of a child. 

On 20 January, 1544, the little Francis was born 
at Fontainebleau, the eldest of ten royal children. 1 

The baptism of the baby in the Chapelle de la 

1 The children of Henri II were as follows ;— 

(1) Frangois II, born 19 January, 1544 ; married Mary, Queen 
of Scots, 24 April, 1558 ; died 5 December, 1560. 

(2) Elisabeth, born 2 April, 1545 ; married Philip II of 
Spain, 20 June, 1559 ; died 3 October, 1568. 

(3) Claude, born 12 November, 1546 ; married 5 February, 
1559 , Charles II, due de Lorraine; died 20 February, 1575. 

(4) Louis, born 3 February, 1548 ; died 24 October, 1550. 

(5) Charles Maximilien (Charles IX), born 27 June, 1550; 
married 26 November, 1570, Elisabeth of Austria ; died 30 May, 
1574 - 

(6) Edouard Alexandre (Henri III), born 19 September, 1551; 
married 15 February, 1575, Louise de Lorraine; died 2 August, 

1589. 

(7) Marguerite, born 14 May, 1552 ; married 18 August, 1572, 
to Henri, King of Navarre ; died 17 March, 1615. 

(8) Hercule (Frangois, due d’Alengon), born 18 March, 1554 I 
died 10 June 1584. 

(9) Victoire, born 24 June, 1556 ; died 17 August, 1556. 

(10) Jeanne, twin with Victoire ; died soon after birth. 


CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


55 


Sainte Trinite, at Fontainebleau, was a magnificent 
ceremonial. Three hundred torches were carried by 
the King’s body-guard and other guards who lined the 
way from the palace to the church. The King and 
Queen, with an immense gathering of princes, courtiers, 
ambassadors, and cardinals, followed the procession, 
a glittering crowd in splendid raiment. The chapel 
was hung with fine tapestry. Under a canopy of 
cloth of silver erected in the middle of the chapel, the 
Cardinal de Bourbon performed the baptismal rites. 
The ceremony was followed by a series of splendid 
fetes which lasted several days. 

The moment must have held its exquisite compensa¬ 
tions for the baby’s mother. The royal family gathered 
at Fontainebleau bent with reverence over the cradle. 
To the King, not old in years, but stricken in spirit, 
worn out mentally and physically, she could give the 
last pleasure of his days, and place in his arms his first 
grandson. It was a poor, puling little atom of human¬ 
ity, a miserably unhealthy infant, but it was the hope 
of the nation, an heir to the dynasty. Catherine felt 
herself the centre of her world for once. The King, 
the Queen, Marguerite of Navarre, Charles d’Orleans, 
the heir presumptive, the Dauphin, and Diane were 
all thrown into shadow for the moment, while she 
stood clearly in the sunlight, holding the baby son. 
The cravings of her hungry soul might now have 
found satisfaction, for she had won the common 
destiny of her womanhood, but to such a nature as 
hers children were but a means to an end. The little 
ones followed fast one upon another. As they emerged 
from babyhood there was another humiliating dis¬ 
covery for Catherine. Diane de Poitiers was to be the 
controlling spirit in the royal nurseries. Diane loved 


56 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


children and had a real talent, sufficiently rare in 
those days, for providing for their health and their 
education. Catherine had her ideas too, but these 
could only be carried out if they fell in with the pro¬ 
jects of Diane. Thus Catherine was a mother shorn 
of her best privileges. 

The little Frangois was, from the hour of his birth, 
the centre of a nation’s anxiety. The nursery cere¬ 
monial was at once inaugurated. His first nurse was 
Claude Gobelin; his second was a Scotswoman, 
Maria Virlone. He had five femmes de chambre and a 
barber of his own. He received the official title of 
“ Monsieur le Due ,” or due d’Orleans. On his second 
birthday his grandfather, King Frangois, gave him the 
governorship of Languedoc. There must have been 
some ceremonial over this event. “ Monsieur le Due , 
glorieux d'etre traite en prince, ne voulu plus etre vetu 
en fille. Cette preuve de fierte precoce charma son p&re.” 
The little delicate infant was still the only Valois boy. 
The year 1545 had brought another royal child, but 
it was a girl, Elisabeth, and the importance of the frail 
life of Frangois was still paramount. He is engagingly 
described as of a turbulent disposition, but full of 
grace. All his vitality, his eager spirits, grew less 
and less as the years went on, each bringing an 
increase of weakness and ill-health. It is wonder¬ 
ful how his attendants managed to keep the child 
alive, in an age when only the strong survived as a 
rule. 

The King died early in 1547, and Catherine was 
a Queen. The emptiness of her title was known, not 
only to herself, but to every peasant in France. The 
crescent moon of Diane sailed higher into the heavens, 
filling ever-widening horizons with its enchanting 


CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


57 


light. The new King Henri II worshipped at her 
shrine more devoutly than ever. He now created her 
Duchesse de Valentinois. At royal progresses it 
was Diane who received the regal honours. Catherine 
neither protested nor rebelled. She had learned a 
secret and deadly patience. 

Frangois had already two little sisters and a brother 
when, in the autumn of 1548, his future wife, Mary, 
Queen of Scots, was sent from her northern kingdom 
to be brought up at the French Court. In spite of 
immense differences of disposition, the little boy and 
girl began at once the touching friendship that was 
to last till their final separation by death. The two 
children presented a pathetic contrast. Mary was a 
beautiful, well-grown child of nearly six, very in¬ 
telligent and full of charm, developing mentally and 
physically day by day. Frangois was four and a 
half, weak, thin, small, and so backward that he could 
not speak plainly, indeed, his speech was always very 
indistinct, nor did his intelligence ever fully develop. 
He was destined to remain always a child. Brantome 
says that Mary, at this time, spoke only the Scottish 
language, which he describes as “fort rurale, barbare, 
mat sonnante et seante ” It is certain, however, that 
Mary had spoken French all her life in Scotland with 
her French mother, and Brantome’s remark must 
be accepted with the caution usually necessary in 
dealing with his statements. He adds that such 
was her grace of speech that every one found it 
beautiful. 

The brilliant child brought to the Court of France 
an element of grace and charm, a flow of happy spirits, 
that captivated all hearts. The sombre Henri adored 
her. “ She is the most perfect child I ever saw,” he 


58 CHILDREN OF FRANCE 

said. Diane de Poitiers took a deep interest in her 
education. 

“ La Petite Reinette d'Ecosse ” held in her little soul, 
newly awakening to the meaning of life, that great 
secret of winning and keeping love which was to be 
the one happiness of a very unhappy life. Interest 
concentrates round her in these early days, for her 
personality is so much more vivid, her gifts so much 
more striking than those of her companions, the Valois 
girls and boys, that she is always seen as the moving 
spirit in the amusements and occupations of the little 
Court. Only one other child there could in any 
degree have matched her in intellect or charm. Fleet¬ 
ing glimpses are caught in the records of the day of 
yet another girl at Court, four years older than Mary, a 
gracious, elusive form. She was known as Diane de 
France, a dignified traditional title to which her birth 
gave her no claim. But her father, Henri II, had no 
other children when she was born, and wished to con¬ 
fer on this dearly loved daughter the highest honour 
possible. The parentage of Diane remains a mystery, 
which is now unlikely ever to be cleared. She was 
brought up by Diane de Poitiers, who acted in all 
things as a mother. 

At Court the child was treated with all the honours 
and distinctions of a daughter of France. Her pre¬ 
rogatives were royal. There were only two coaches in 
Paris. One of these belonged to the Queen, and the 
other to Diane de France. She had her part in affairs 
of State, and was admitted to the counsels not only of 
her father, but afterwards to those of the Kings, her 
half-brothers. But it is in the open air and in the 
excitement of the chase that the clearest visions are 
revealed of Diane, flying through the sun and shadow 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, WIFE OF FRANCOIS II, AS A GIRL 
From a draw mg' by Francois Clouet 


















I 



CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


59 


of many a royal forest, a beautiful girl, full of grace 
and vitality, and above all a marvellous horsewoman. 
No one at Court could match her either in her skill in 
riding or in dances “ either grave or gay.” She sang 
well and played the lute. A sunny, gracious nature, a 
kindly, responsive manner, a large heart and generous 
soul made every one love her. 

Thirty-seven “ children of honour ” were the play¬ 
fellows and companions of the Valois boys and girls, 
whose lives were practically passed in public. It is 
hard to disentangle any view of their childish figures, 
except as the centre of a crowd, but among all the 
restless activities and excitements there were also 
some simple pleasures. Here and there the picture 
rises of Mary and the frail Dauphin reading together 
in the closes of some sunny garden the old glorious 
stories of knighthood and ancient chivalry, or riding 
together on the little ponies sent from Scotland, hither 
and thither about the pleasant fields of the dear France 
they loved. 

The little Dauphin, to whom fate had denied so 
much, and who was destined never to play the 
great part to which he was born, had his happy 
days in the sunshine of the personality of his 
comrade. In spite of his bodily weakness, the 
boy, as he grew older, was keenly alive to the 
joys of sport and to all manly activities. Of all 
the four sons of Henri II he had the noblest 
instincts. 

The next child to him in age was the little Elisabeth, 
the only one of her five daughters really loved by 
Catherine. Claude followed soon after, and these two 
little sisters were brought up in all things exactly 
alike, sleeping in the same cradle, driving in the same 


60 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


coach, receiving the same presents, and wearing the 
same colours. They had the usual childish ailments, 
including measles, of which they were cured by means 
of powder made of a unicorn’s horn. It is wonderful 
that any but the strongest children survived the 
doctoring of the day. 

Elisabeth was the chief playmate of Mary Stuart, 
whose own four Maries were temporarily removed 
when she first came to St. Germain, in order that 
she might be more completely thrown with the 
Children of France. The two little girls loved and 
quarrelled like other little girls. It was one of 
the few sorrows of Mary’s girlhood that she had 
to see Elisabeth go away from the Court to her 
unknown husband and her Spanish kingdom. They 
danced a fiavane together at the wedding and parted 
for ever. 

Little Louis, due d’Orleans, born in 1548, lived 
only two years. The birth of a second son of France 
caused immense rejoicings ; he seemed much stronger 
and more normal than his brother the Dauphin. 
The astrologers, whom Catherine always diligently 
consulted, predicted a mighty career. Happiest 
among all the Valois sons, he was destined to know 
none of their sorrows. At his public baptism, cele¬ 
brated with extraordinary splendour, the infant was 
sacrificed to a rigorous Court etiquette which ordained 
that he should be handed about from one Court 
functionary to another, presumably insufficiently clad, 
as he died from cold two days later. 

Following the little Louis came Charles, who, at 
nine years old, was fated to be King of France. A year 
later Edouard Alexandre was born, who also was to 
reign as Henri III. Marguerite, Hercule, and the 


CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


61 


twin girls completed the group. One baby, the little 
Jeanne, did not long survive its birth. Catherine 
herself nearly died. Brantome mentions the other 
baby: “ Victoire, cette belle fille, mourut incontinent et 
ne vint aucunement en maturite .” 

These sons and daughters of Henri II belonged to an 
age immensely great in art, in letters, and in human 
progress. 

The Court of France was then at the height of its 
glory, a scene of endless splendour, pageant, and 
display, with all the activities that belong to a time 
of national prestige and of great riches. The children 
led an extraordinary existence, moving constantly 
from one great palace to another, for this was a 
necessity of life. When the Court moved an immense 
train followed, a cortege miles long, lumbering over 
roads that would now hardly be dignified with the 
name of cart-tracks, bearing furniture and all other 
requirements. Residence would then be established 
at the chosen chateau, as many of the courtiers as 
possible lodging within the walls, while the rest of the 
dependents were quartered in the surrounding villages, 
wherever room could be found, often to the intense 
indignation of the villagers. Not only were the most 
primitive ideas of sanitation unknown, but the com¬ 
monest decencies of life were disregarded, so that a 
short sojourn in any place rendered it uninhabitable. 
The food resources of the neighbourhood would also 
become exhausted, and then a move must be made. 
Away went the whole cortege again to the next chateau 
chosen by the King. Sixteen of these changes were 
made in one year while the Queen of Scots was with 
the Children of France. 

The glittering Court offered everything but the 


62 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


routine and tranquillity so essential to childhood. 
It was the scene of a moving transformation from 
splendour to splendour. Pageant and tourney, mask, 
review, and ball, in all these the children bore a part. 
Little time was left for childish pleasures and pursuits. 
It is good to think of them enjoying the simpler 
pleasures of hunting and hawking, and the small 
excitements of masks and tricks organized by them¬ 
selves, and involving the fascinating ceremony, so dear 
to all children, of “ dressing up.” 

Interest in animal life, a marked characteristic in 
the royal families of France, was fostered wherever 
they went. In every palace a collection of animals 
was kept. Four large dogs (muzzled) and twenty- 
two little house dogs were kept at a single chateau, 
and there was always a stable full of horses and ponies, 
besides all the falcons and hounds required for sport. 
But a menagerie of wild beasts, snakes, wolves, 
ostriches, boars, and bears was also considered essen¬ 
tial, and doubtless provided an endless source of amuse¬ 
ment to the boys and girls. 

They were entertained also by a constant supply of 
acrobats, mummers, maskers, travelling actors, the 
Court fools who contributed in some mysterious way 
to the gaiety of life, and last but not least, the masters 
who taught dancing, shooting, jousting, and all chival¬ 
rous accomplishments. 

In the midst of it all a high standard of education 
was maintained, if that of Mary Stuart is to be accepted 
as an example. Long before she was grown up she 
spoke four languages, wrote in Latin, played on three 
instruments, and could embroider, knit, and cook. 
Possibly her tutors took advantage of her great 
natural abilities to exhibit her as a small prodigy, 


CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


63 


and her less gifted companions, the Children of France, 
escaped more easily. 

An old gentleman named Montpipeau was appointed 
governor of the Dauphin’s younger brothers. He had 
but one function, to inculcate absolute obedience to 
their elder brother, the future King. A multitude of 
masters were engaged to teach a large variety of 
subjects. Minute care was exercised by Catherine 
de’ Medici and Diane de Poitiers in all that concerned 
education, but there seems to have been nothing done 
to train character, to develop self-control, or any sense 
of justice and honour. Historical record remains of 
the routine of the boys’ day. They rose very early, 
and read either in the Scriptures, or the work of some 
religious author. The tutor then on duty added 
comments. Then came repetition of lessons learned 
the day before, then a walk or a game of tennis. 
Dinner was at ten in the morning. After dinner 
came another walk, followed by a music lesson, and 
then three hours of work at some special study. The 
riding lesson came next, in which the boys learned 
jumping and all the feats of horsemanship then in 
vogue. Gymnastics were also practised. Supper was 
the chief meal of the day. In the evening the children 
played at cards, enigmas, lotteries, and chess. The 
last thing before they went to bed the tutor repeated 
the lessons of the day. This routine must have been 
very constantly interrupted, for the record does not 
make mention of the hours spent in attending Mass, 
or in hunting, hawking, or travelling, and leaves no 
margin for the countless distractions already men¬ 
tioned. 

As to the children’s dress, it resembled exactly in 
miniature that of grown-up people. It had not yet 


64 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


occurred to anyone that children might be happier 
and healthier in simpler, lighter clothing. Pictures 
of the little princesses exhibit them like dolls in long, 
stiff skirts and tight bodices, with wide sleeves 
richly adorned with pearls or precious stones, and 
trimmed heavily with ribbons; their cloaks were 
lined with ermine. The hair was always drawn away 
from the face as much as possible. The boys wore 
the same short coat as the men of the day, and full 
pantalons made of plaited material and striped with 
loose bands of a different colour. The under-vest had 
large puffed sleeves, adorned with coloured bands of 
material. The Italian toque of velvet, ornamented 
with a jewel, and a feather on one side, was tilted 
over the ear. 

Political events of the highest importance have 
naturally thrown into the background the details of the 
royal nursery, but here and there the little personalities 
of the children emerge for a moment among the actors 
in the stern drama, crossing the stage, so crowded 
with great figures and momentous issues, with a 
delicate and strangely alien touch of lightness and 
grace. 

Princess Claude was naughty one day. Her offence 
was not of a desperate nature. Contrary to nursery 
rules, she had insisted on drinking water before going 
to bed. Her sister Elisabeth was instructed to reprove 
this iniquity in her younger sister. This Elisabeth 
declined to do, on the conscientious ground that she 
herself had wished to drink water. The affair made a 
little stir in the nursery, and has its place in history, 
because it formed the subject of a Latin theme written 
by Mary, Queen of Scots, the eldest of the group. 
She assumes a shocked and admonitory attitude. 


CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


65 


“ We should be examples to the people. How can we 
reprove others, unless we ourselves are faultless ? ” 

Another of the stories concerns Henri, when he was 
ten years old. The struggle between the reformed 
religion and Rome was violently agitating France, 
and some of the attendants of Prince Henri had 
persuaded him to pretend an interest in the Huguenot 
doctrines. He went about the Court saying, " Je 
suis le petit Huguenot moi, mais je le serai grand.” 
He decided to convert his sister Marguerite, a year 
younger than himself. Marguerite sturdily declined 
to make the required change, or to sing the Psalms 
according to the version by the Huguenot poet Marot, 
which her imperious brother desired her to do. With 
the true spirit of intolerance, the boy seized her 
book of “ Hours,” her missal, and her rosary, and threw 
them into the fire. He remarked that she was stupid 
and obstinate, and evidently intended to become as 
great a fool as her governess. The outraged Marguerite 
wept, but replied with spirit, “ Monsieur, you may kill 
me if such is your pleasure, but I will suffer every ill 
rather than lose my soul.” The story of Henri’s 
undesirable methods of conversion reached Catherine 
de’ Medici, who took away the boy’s own books of 
devotion and scolded him well. His tutors were 
dismissed for having allowed the thing to happen. 
At the end of five years, his sister Marguerite re¬ 
converted him to the Church of his fathers. 

Henri writes a charming little letter, when he was 
eight, to his brother Francois, who was then already 
King. The missive must have reached him nearly 
at the end of his life. 

“ Monsieur,—I am very sorry that you are so ill, 
5 


66 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


and so long. I wish I had something that could give 
you pleasure, and could be with you to help pass the 
time. Monsieur, I am always studying, so that when I 
am big I can do you service. I recommend myself 
to your good grace. I pray to God that you will 
soon be well.—Your humble and very obedient brother, 
“ Alexandre de France ” 

Charles was, as a boy, almost as frail in health as his 
brother the Dauphin, but he was extremely fond of 
gymnastics and all physical exercises, and was a great 
admirer of the acrobats that came frequently to exhibit 
their accomplishments to the Court. Charles greatly 
wished to attain to their suppleness and dexterity. 
Moreover, he was sure he could do it. He began by 
trying to kiss his own foot. His failure annoyed him. 
He declared he should succeed, by practice, in render¬ 
ing his joints like those of an Italian mountebank whose 
antics he specially admired. No one could persuade 
the child to the contrary. He made a bet of a thousand 
ecus with a captain at Court that in three years he 
would do it. 

Most clearly seen of all the figures in the Valois 
nursery is that of the little Marguerite, the “ Queen 
Margot ” of history, a bright and charming child. 
There is an amusing account of her, when she was five 
years old, sitting on her father’s knee, and with a 
serious air rejecting Henri de Lorraine, due de Guise, 
as a suitor. She said she would never marry a subj ect. 

“ There were in the same room,” says Margot in her 
Memoirs, “ playing and diverting themselves, the 
Prince de Joinville, since the great and unfortunate 
due de Guise, and the Marquis of Beaupr^au, who 
died in his fourteenth year, and by whose death his 


CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


67 


country lost a youth of most promising talents. 
Amongst other discourse, the King asked which of the 
two princes that were before me I liked best. I 
replied: * The Marquis/ The King said : ‘ Why so ? 
he is not the handsomest/ The Prince of Joinville 
was fair, with light-coloured hair, and the Marquis 
de Beaupr£au brown, with dark hair. I answered : 
* Because he is the best behaved; while the Prince 
is always making mischief, and will be master over 
everybody / ” 

It must have been very soon after this scene that, 
being affianced to another suitor, she wrote the follow¬ 
ing letter to her father :— 

“ My little Papa, —Send me my New Year’s 
presents, and tell my husband that I recommend myself 
humbly to his good grace, and ask him to send me 
something pretty, and also some little popines and little 
men and little women. M. D. F.” 

Henri II died when the imperious Margot was five. 
She was by far the prettiest and most interesting of 
his children, and even in infancy was full of the 
romantic charm that in a measure transfigures the 
endless immoralities of her later life. Beautiful 
and kind, she inherited the generous, emotional im¬ 
pulses of the Valois, together with her mother’s total 
lack of moral sense. Margot sails through the history 
of her day always as an arresting personality, an 
enchanting combination of imperial pride and small 
lovable human instincts. 

Something of this attraction belonged to all the 
Valois children in their early youth—a certain noble¬ 
ness of nature linked to warm, impulsive, and artistic 



68 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


temperaments. Everything in such characters would 
depend on the early training. 

Their mother, Catherine, was the last woman who 
should have had the upbringing of children. She 
lacked entirely any guiding principle. Expediency was 
her god, and craft the key-note of her character. 

The elder girls were early married and withdrawn 
from personal intercourse. It was upon the characters 
of the younger boys that the chief flood of her influence 
was spent. The effect of their mother’s dominating 
will upon their development was seen in the fact that 
they did not develop at all. What they were as young 
boys, they remained when they were Kings of France. 

Something in the description of the boy Charles 
makes appeal to the imagination. His beautiful eyes, 
brown and soft, were set wide apart in a countenance 
full of sympathy and intellect. His figure was tall but 
stooping. His young face bore, even in childhood, the 
wrinkles of ill-health. Wayward and distrait, there 
was yet a kindness and loyalty in his air, expressing 
at once the dignity of a prince and the dreams of a 
poet. All great things in art, poetry, and music were 
dear to his boyish soul. Ronsard was his chosen 
poet, and Ronsard cherished some of the verses the 
boy wrote himself when he was fourteen. As he 
grew older, all arts appealed to him. He learned a 
beaten-metal craft. He had his own studio in the 
Louvre, ^with a forge, where he made swords and 
armour, ^expending his passionate energy in manual 
work. Above all things, he loved music. “ Dieu! 
quit aimait la musique ! ” writes a contemporary. He 
was carried away, exalted, happy beyond mortal 
happiness, when he listened to fine music. He chose 
personally the singers in" the choir of his private chapel, 


CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


69 


and sang with them. Next to music, like a true 
Valois, he loved the chase, and especially stag-hunting. 
Encouraged from childhood to follow all forms of 
sport, it became so much a passion that the pursuit 
amounted to a diseased activity. Unlike his brothers 
and sisters, he was not luxurious in his tastes and 
habits, was sparing in his diet, drank only water, and 
cared nothing for splendid surroundings. One bitter 
truth remains to be told concerning him. He was 
subject to fits of insanity. Dark, brooding, perverse, 
shaken with homicidal rage, killing animals in default 
of human prey, when under the shadow of this horrible 
affliction, no one would have recognized the refined 
and lovable boy. In the midst of it all he was capable 
of deep and lasting affections. He loved his tutor, 
Jacques Antyot, and his old nurse. But he allowed 
his writing master to be hanged for heresy without 
lifting a finger to save him. When the fit was upon 
him, blood-lust ruled. Horrible things are told of him, 
how he killed and mutilated pigs, afterwards paying 
the owners of the unfortunate animals. One day he 
wished to kill the mule belonging to his friend the 
Sieur de Laussac. “ What quarrel, Roi trds chretien, 
can have happened between you and my mule ? ” said 
de Laussac. The sum of a hundred and twenty-five 
livres was paid to Laurent Escorse, a muleteer, for a 
mule which Charles had taken away to make it fight his 
lions. No physician in the age to which he belonged 
understood in the least the proper treatment of the 
insane, indeed, it does not appear that the poor boy re¬ 
ceived any treatment at all. His frightful outbursts 
of rage were a kind of asset in the family. His mother 
had no scruple, in later days, in making infamous use of 
the signs and consequences of these attacks to further 


70 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


her schemes. She knew exactly how to play on the 
unstrung nerves and to bring to fever-point the mad¬ 
ness in his blood. On her alone must rest the blame 
of the terrible crowning tragedy of the life and reign of 
Charles—the mad riot of slaughter that has scarred 
for ever his memory and the annals of France. 

Henri, due d’Anjou, was one year younger than 
Charles. Brilliant, audacious, manly as a boy, with 
great military gifts and ambitions, he was the sole 
object of Catherine’s devotion, even when all these 
shining qualities suffered hopeless eclipse. In appear¬ 
ance Henri was slender like his brothers, and of about 
middle height, not so tall as Charles or so short as 
Alen^on. He must have been a strange child, and 
there is little doubt that he was not free from the 
family taint of madness. It is on record that he was 
fond of animals, and was allowed to rear wild beasts at 
the Chateau de Madrid, in the Bois de Boulogne. He 
dreamed one night that these beasts had attacked him. 
A dream was more than enough to upset the unstable 
balance of his mind. In the morning he gave orders 
that all the wild beasts were to be killed. He had 
them replaced by packs of small dogs. 

As time went on all his robust ambitions faded from 
his mind. He became hopelessly effeminate. Covered 
with perfumes and essences, wearing immense ear¬ 
rings, inordinately fond of diamonds, spending vast 
sums on fantastic clothes, in appearance as in mind 
he became grotesque. Even hunting did not attract 
him. His amusements were of the feeblest. He 
sought the company of boys as foolish as himself, 
called them his mignons , and led them into a thousand 
meaningless and unprincely frolics. In his quieter 
moments he talked to parrots, teased dwarfs, and 



HENRI III AS A CHILD 

From a drawing in the Bibliotheque Nationale 


















D 


* 






* 


a 




I 












CHILDREN OF HENRI II 


71 


sought for little dogs to add to his collection. In 
pursuit of these he would go into private houses and 
even into convents. The unfortunate owners were 
obliged to relinquish the dogs with the best grace they 
could muster. 

The youngest son of France, Francis Hercule, due 
d’Alenin, 1 was at one time a promising boy. In 
person he was short and swarthy, but had a certain 
fineness of feature till he was nine years old, when his 
face was utterly disfigured by an attack of smallpox. 
He became remarkably ugly. As he grew older he was 
acutely conscious of his unattractive appearance, 
which very surely would not pass without derisive 
comment in an age and a Court where sensitive feelings 
were little considered. His characteristics in boyhood 
were like those of his father. He was sombre, taciturn, 
and secret, his natural childish gaiety giving place to 
a hard and bitter spirit. The marked preference of 
Catherine for his brother Henri ate into his soul. All 
the furious quarrels of the three brothers had their 
origin in this aching jealousy, which she caused and 
fostered for her own ends. 

1 Alenin is remembered in English history as the French boy 
with whom the middle-aged Queen Elizabeth coquetted for years 
in one of her grotesque matrimonial comedies. 


CHAPTER V 


FRANCOIS IT 

T HE first great family event in the lives of the Valois 
children was the marriage, on 24 April, 1558, of 
the Dauphin to Mary, Queen of Scots. The bridegroom 
was fourteen years old and the bride fifteen and a 
half. The wedding was at the Cathedral of Notre- 
Dame in Paris, and was the occasion of a splendid 
ceremonial. There had been no royal marriage since 
that of Magdaleine and the Scottish King, twenty-two 
years before. The great event drew to Paris an im¬ 
mense crowd of all classes. All the French royalties 
and many of the Scottish nobility were present. Round 
the figures of the two children were gathered a con¬ 
course of men and women whose names ring down the 
ages still. The Guise brothers were there, uncles of 
the bride, alert, tense, absorbed, for their ultimate 
rise to power seemed assured in this marriage. In 
another group stood the King of Navarre and his son 
Henri, who was some day to be King of France, and 
his brothers the Cardinal de Bourbon and the Prince 
de Cond£, destined to play stupendous parts in the 
drama soon to be unrolled. Here were the great 
families of the Montmorencys and Chatillons, and 
there Diane de Poitiers, Diane de France, Catherine 
de’ Medici, the grave King Henri II, and the little group 
7* 


73 


FRANCOIS II 

of the Dauphin’s six brothers and sisters, from 
Elisabeth, who was thirteen, to the baby Hercule, 
who was three. 

Outside the circle of Crown and Court, thronging 
the narrow streets, climbing the steep-pitched roofs, 
gathered a vast multitude of the poor of Paris, attracted 
by the glitter of so sumptuous a spectacle. There 
crowds of obscure bourgeois and of wretched peasants 
could find some pitiful thrill of pleasure, some sense 
of possession in the sight of the far-off magnificence 
their misery supported. 

To the little Dauphin it was a day of great happiness. 
Mary had been his playfellow and his protector ever 
since he could remember, and he had found in her the 
one soul to whom he could turn for understanding. 
He must have looked a frail creature beside the tall 
figure of his bride, who was fast growing into the 
heritage of her imperial womanhood. “ She was 
dressed in a robe whiter than the lily, but so glorious 
in its fashion and decorations that it would be difficult, 
nay, impossible for any pen to do it justice. Her 
royal mantle and train were of bluish grey cut velvet, 
embroidered with white silk and pearls. It was of 
marvellous length, full six toises, covered with precious 
stones, and was supported by young ladies.” 

The ceremony was followed by the favourite forms 
of entertainment then in vogue, a magnificent ball and 
mask. In all the festivities the Children of France 
bore conspicuous parts. 

The married life of the pair lasted a little more than 
two years. The health of Francois steadily declined, 
and he was obliged to wander, as of old, from one 
palace toanother in search of the healing he never found. 

The year following saw three marriages in the 


74 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


royal family, the first, on 22 January, 1559, being 
that of the King’s second daughter, Claude, then 
eleven years old. The bridegroom, Charles III of 
Lorraine, was sixteen. A sumptuous trousseau was 
provided. Claude is a shadowy figure in the annals of 
France, but she shines clearly forth on her wedding- 
day in her quaint attire. She wore a vasquine of gilt 
yellow satin, the bodice and sleeves trimmed with 
silver embroidery and petticoat to match. Her royal 
mantle and cotte dessoux was of cloth of gold. The 
little girlish figure must have looked stiff and doll-like 
in these splendid and unsuitable trappings. Brant6me 
has left a description of Claude as a beautiful, good, 
sweet Princess, a true daughter of France, full of 
intelligence and spirit. 

During the sixteen years of her married life she 
brought her husband three sons and six daughters. 
She died at Nancy in 1575 at the birth of twin sons. 

Her sister Elisabeth was married four months later 
than Claude. Putting aside all the exaggerations of 
polite contemporary historians, who describe her as 
of celestial beauty, there is no doubt that the tall, 
dark-eyed, dark-haired child had a heritage of grace 
and charm. From her infancy her matrimonial fate 
had been the cause of conntless Court intrigues. 

In 1547, as a very small child, she was betrothed to 
Don Carlos, who was then two years old, the son of 
the Spanish King Philip II, 1 whose second wife was 
Bloody Mary, Queen of England. 

1 Philip II was four times married. First to Maria of Portugal, 
mother of Don Carlos. She died 1545. Second, in 1554, to Mary 
of England, who died 1558. Third, in 1560, to Elisabeth of France, 
who died 1568, leaving two daughters. Fourth, in 1570, to his niece, 
Anne of Austria, who died 1580. She was the mother of Philip III 
of Spain, 


75 


FRANCOIS II 

The death of Mary again made Philip of Spain an 
eligible bridegroom. He decided to marry Elisabeth 
of France himself, in place of his son. The Spanish 
King was thirty-two, which would mean, to the in¬ 
experience of her fourteen years, a great disparity. 
The personality of Philip, grim, unsmiling, bigoted, 
not to be shaken from his attitude of fierce intolerance, 
had for long cast a powerful and threatening shadow 
over the councils of Europe. The prospect of leaving 
the liberty, the thousand interests of home, all the 
troop of girls and gallants who had filled her life with 
gaiety and laughter, for such companionship may 
well have given her moments of misgiving. To 
lose the laughter was the worst, and Philip never 
laughed. 

It was to be a double wedding, for the King had 
also arranged the marriage of his sister Marguerite, 
the last remaining daughter of Francois I. She was 
to be married to the due de Savoie. The bride was 
thirty-seven, an age which would in those days have 
definitely relegated her to the grey circle of middle 
life, for a woman rarely remained unmarried after 
her teens, unless she adopted a religious life. Doubt¬ 
less she might, as the King’s sister, have retained an 
obscure niche at Court, exhibiting the rare figure of a 
sixteenth-century maiden aunt, but in the general 
stir of affairs at the peace of Chateau Cambresis, she 
became a pawn in the political game, and equally 
with her young niece must help to build the fortunes 
of France. Henri wished to see both princesses 
married within a few days of each other. The most 
splendid pageantries were arranged. 

The popular pleasure and excitement was, however, 
soon to be changed to a tragic sense of loss and fear. 


76 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


The Spanish marriage was celebrated at Notre-Dame 
on 26 June. The French King, who loved shows of 
all kinds, had taken an immense interest in impressing 
the Spanish visitors with the splendours of his Court. 
He planned one last grand function before Elisabeth 
set forth to her new husband’s kingdom. It was to 
take the form of a tournament. The lists were set on 
the usual place for such contests, outside the prison 
of the Bastille. Thither rode the King and Queen 
with a glittering suite. These tournaments were 
generally harmless amusements with more sound 
and fury than real fighting. The King on this occa¬ 
sion himself entered the lists, and many lances were 
harmlessly broken. Loud applause from a delighted 
populace greeted his repeated appearance in the lists. 
The affair was safely over, and the royal party about 
to quit the scene, when Henri, still in the flush of 
victory, espied two lances that still remained un¬ 
broken. Taking one himself, he sent the other to 
Montgomery, the Captain of his Scottish Guard, a 
young man noted for his skill in jousting, inviting him 
to break with him, in honour of the ladies, one last 
lance. Twice Montgomery, struck with some pre¬ 
sentiment of disaster, refused the challenge. The 
Queen sent a message to the King begging him not 
to fight again. But Henri, in high spirits, and not 
inclined to brook opposition to his will, would listen 
to nothing, and sent a definite order to Montgomery 
to put himself on the defensive. At the violence of 
the first onslaught the King reeled in his saddle, and 
both lances were broken. The visor of the King’s 
helmet was accidentally raised by the shock, and 
a splinter from a broken lance penetrated his face 
a little below the left eye. He was carried back 


77 


FRANCOIS II 

unconscious to the palace. The wound was not 
at first thought to be severe, but the brain was in¬ 
jured, and though he lived ten days there was never 
hope of recovery. At his express wish the marriage 
of his sister Marguerite to the due de Savoie went 
forward. Without royal pomp she was married at 
midnight in the private chapel of the Tournelles, close 
to the dying King. 

Henri II died thus on io July, 1559. 

The ancient ceremonial of France, which enacted 
that a widowed queen should remain forty days in 
bed in a darkened room, seeing neither the sun nor the 
moon, was disregarded by Catherine de’ Medici. She 
could not afford the delay. With the Guises and the 
new Queen, Mary Stuart, she carried off the little 
King to the dreary precincts of the Louvre. 

Ultimately she made a retreat to St. Germain, in 
obedience to the prescribed etiquette of mourning, 
and remained there for five weeks. 

The children were gathered round her, the new 
little King only sixteen years old, the youngest child, 
Margot, only five. Among the group stood Mary, 
Queen of Scots, now Queen of France as well—an 
influence to be considered, and Catherine had never 
won her friendship. 

But behind Mary waited her uncles, the Guise 
brothers, and there, as Catherine knew, lay the supreme 
danger at this critical moment. 

Outside the circle was the widowed disconsolate 
figure of Diane' de Poitiers, she who was twenty 
years older than her King, and had never thought to 
outlive him. Catherine could not feel true compas¬ 
sion, but something in the desolation of that figure 
must have appealed to her easy pity. She might 


78 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


have taken keener vengeance on the woman who 
had ruined her married life. Diane withdrew to her 
own exquisite domain of Anet. 

Forty days after her father’s death Elisabeth, the 
little Queen of Spain, with bitter tears left the Court 
for ever, and set out on her journey towards her 
new kingdom and the grim husband she had never 
seen. Drear misgivings must have beset her childish 
heart as she crossed the snows of the Pyr6n6es. Her 
welcome to Spain was not calculated to cheer her 
spirits. Cardinal Mendoza received her at the frontier, 
and in a harsh voice addressed her in the words of 
the 45th Psalm : “ Hear, O daughter, and consider, 
and incline thine ear : forget also thine own people 
and thy father's house. So shall the King desire 
thy beauty; for He is thy Lord God, and worship 
thou Him.” 

The Bishop of Burgos added, “ and the King.” 
Philip, her bridegroom, haughty, frigid, and the most 
powerful sovereign in Europe, met her at Guadalajara. 
The child gazed so fixedly at him that his first words 
were spoken in impatience. He asked her whether 
she was anxious to see if he had white hair. 

Looking at the alarmed face of this pretty and 
charming child, with her dazzling complexion, her 
dark eyes and hair, her air of distinction and of intelli¬ 
gence, he probably felt irritably conscious that his grim 
record of double widowerhood unfitted him for the 
position of husband. The marriage was at Toledo. 
At the wedding ceremony she fainted. Popular 
gossip, repeated by various historians, attributes 
the fact to the bitterness of her feelings on account 
of Don Carlos, who was once her betrothed. There 
was no truth in this rumour, and the fainting-fit is 


79 


FRANCOIS II 

rationally explained by the development, three days 
later, of an attack of smallpox. Elisabeth had a 
fortunate escape in the failure of her marriage negotia¬ 
tions with the insane Don Carlos, who now became 
her stepson. 

While the eldest daughter of France lived out the 
few short years of her reign in Spain, her own country 
was the scene of bitter desolation. Her marriage had 
for the time averted war with Spain, but a far worse 
struggle was soon to begin, in those so-called wars of 
religion that were to drain France of her best blood 
and bring her people into acute misery. 

Vigorous persecution began with the new reign. 
The Guises were determined on this course, and the 
Queen Mother could not stop it. 

A Huguenot plot to capture the young King, to 
remove him from the influence of the Guises, and to 
make the royal authority an independent power in 
the kingdom brought matters to a crisis. 

The leading spirit in this attempt was Jean de 
Bari, Sieur de la R6naudie, but he was supported by 
all the great Huguenot families. 

The simple plan of La R6naudie was to seize 
the person of the little King, to get rid of the 
Guises, and to convoke the Parliament or States- 
General. If the King refused to conform to the 
reformed faith he was to be deposed and another 
King to be chosen. A military rising all over France 
was organized. 

In February, 1560, the Court and the royal family 
moved from castle to castle on a prolonged hunting 
excursion. While at the Castle of Blois the Court 
was suddenly surprised by the conjuration de la 
Renaudie, Had the plot succeeded the little King 


80 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


would only have fallen into the hands of loyal friends, 
but to the Guises it was a moment of sharp peril. At 
Blois it was not easy to make defence, and the whole 
party, Francis and Mary, with Catherine, the three 
little boys, and Margot, were taken at once to the 
Castle of Amboise, which commanded a little town 
easily defended. 

The King was assured that the Huguenots meant 
to kill him. The boy wept, and for the first time 
uttered reproaches to his masters, the Guises. “ What 
have I done to my people/' he cried, “ that they 
attempt my life ? I want to hear their complaints 
and to do right. It is you alone," he said to the 
Cardinal, “ who make me appear odious to my people. 
I wish you would go away from here, so that we 
might see whether it is you or I that they are 
against." 

Mary, the Queen, stood by, pale and silent, watching 
the unusual sight of anger and fear in her boy-husband. 
But his protests were unavailing. Neither Duke nor 
Cardinal had the slightest intention of relaxing their 
grasp on State affairs. 

Guise caused the King to issue an edict according a 
general amnesty to the rebels, on condition that arms 
were laid down. Many of the unfortunate Huguenots, 
however, were flying for their lives or rallying for another 
attack, and heard nothing of this peaceful message. 
Some of these even dared to come and attack the 
Castle. They were repulsed, and their retreat was the 
signal for a series of horrible and barbarous executions. 
The amnesty was revoked, the prisoners were hung 
or drowned in the river Loire. Twelve hundred were 
put to death in Amboise, where the streets ran with 
blood and the bodies hung in rows from the battle- 


81 


FRANQOIS II 

ments of the Castle. Any rebels caught in the forest 
were simply hung on the nearest trees. Some of the 
more distinguished prisoners were kept, to try if 
torture could draw from them the names of other 
conspirators. 

The dark story is told here because it throws a 
lurid light on the poor Children of France, caught in 
the meshes of this horrible event, and shows how 
little consideration for the young nerves and spirits 
was shown by those who controlled their lives. When 
the chiefs of the rising were to be executed the two 
Queens, Catherine and Mary, magnificently dressed 
and followed by their ladies of honour, came out on 
the balcony of the Castle to witness the spectacle. 
" The ringleaders/' says an old chronicler, " were not 
hung till after the King had dined, to give amusement 
to the ladies, who gather to the windows as if to view 
a play, as if without pity.” It is impossible to think 
for a moment that the young girl, Mary, tender¬ 
hearted, easily moved, and compassionate all her life, 
went willingly to such a sight. The duty was sternly 
imposed upon her and the young King by the relent¬ 
less Guises. Catherine must alone bear the blame of 
causing her three little boys, the eldest ten years old 
and the youngest six, to be present. 

These scenes at Amboise were almost the last events 
of the life of Francois II at which any clear sight of 
him is to be had. Here and there his boyish figure 
shows at councils and State meetings during the closing 
months of his life. 

To his mother, to his wife, to the Guise brothers, 
to all the nation, it was now fully apparent that the 
death of the young King could not be long delayed. 
Catherine, who had never loved the sickly, undeveloped 
6 


82 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


boy at whose birth she had so passionately rejoiced, 
saw her own hour of supremacy surely drawing near. 
To the heart of Mary, already grave with the burden 
of all she had witnessed during the few sad months of 
the boy’s reign, the sorrow of his passing was more 
than that of a very young wife for a still younger 
husband. It went farther into the roots of life, for 
they shared their earliest remembrances like brother 
and sister, and had belonged utterly to one another. 
Hers had been the protective love of a strong child 
for a weaker child ; she was his comrade, his consoler, 
his champion. To her his best thoughts and hopes 
had turned ever since he could remember. The tie 
was not broken without acute suffering. 

Worn and exhausted by slow and constant fever, 
Francis increased rapidly in height during his last 
months, thus outgrowing any poor reserve of strength 
he may once have had. With the wayward impulse 
of hopeless weakness, he refused to take even reason¬ 
able care of his health. The last weeks of his life 
recall strangely those of his grandfather, Francois I. 
There was the same mad impulse to hunt, to be for 
long hours in the saddle in spite of fatigue, to press 
forward at a gallop as if thus to satisfy or outstrip the 
racing pulses of the body. Deep in the forests the 
boy rode, day after day, heedless of entreaty, in the 
pursuit of he knew not what, seeking some respite for 
an oppressed and troubled mind, unable to bear for 
an hour the torment of inaction. 

The final illness of Francois II began on 16 November, 
1560. He spent the morning in the Church of St. 
Aignan at Orleans, the centre of an immense crowd, 
consisting largely of diseased persons, for he was there 
to perform the fatiguing ceremony of " touching for 



FRANCOIS II 

From a drawing in the Bibliotheque Nationale 






















































-\J 












































































































































. 
















































































' 























































































































































88 


FRANCOIS II 

the King’s Evil.” 1 The atmosphere was exhausted 
and his strength nearly at an end. 

In the midst of his duty to the anxious groups of 
his sick people, the King fainted. He was carried to 
the Castle and put to bed, from which he did not rise. 

As the King’s death drew nearer, the anxieties of 
the Guise brothers increased in intensity. Fearful 
lest the boy, now rapidly sinking, should in his ex¬ 
tremity say something which would make an excuse 
for the Bourbons to lay claim to a large share in the 
government, the due de Guise and his brother the 
Cardinal remained resolutely at his bedside. The 
shadow of their power was never to be lifted. If at 
any time in his unquiet life the boy had dreamed of 
a real kingship, of independent action, of honour 
towards his people, the dream must have quite faded 
now when he saw the faces that surrounded him at 
the last. These were they who had made freedom 
only a dream, and these had triumphed. Now nothing 
mattered any more. He looked beyond to another 
figure, beautiful and best beloved, who alone had 
made life worth living. He knew that Mary had also 
borne the yoke, that her thoughts were prisoners too, 
and they two seemed alone in all the hard world as, 
stricken to the soul, she bent to console his dying bed. 

The end came on 5 December. The Cardinal was 
still there. The last prayer of the dying boy was 
actually dictated by him. “ Lord, pardon my sins, 
and impute not to me, Thy servant, the sin com¬ 
mitted by my Ministers under my name and authority.” 

To the Guises the influence of Mary over the dead 
King had meant easy victory in every crisis. Through 

iThe King laid his hand upon the forehead of each sufferer, 
saying, “ The King has touched ; God will heal." 


84 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


her they had dominated the councils of the realm. 
Now she had become of no practical account, and they 
stood alone, their eyes fixed on the Queen-Mother. 
What would she do ? To which party would she turn ? 

Catherine de’ Medici’s hour had come at last. 

Her dead son did not receive at her hands the usual 
splendid funeral ceremonials of the Kings of France. 
No royal honours were paid, no processions arranged. 
Money was necessary for all her schemes, and the 
exchequer was nearly empty. Only three mourners 
followed the body from Orleans to its final resting- 
place at St. Denis, his old tutors, Saulac and La Brosse, 
and the Bishop of Senlis, who was blind. 

The widowed Mary, withdrawing to her dule- 
chamber, hung with black, must in the forty dreary 
inactive days she spent there, a white-robed appealing 
figure among the mourning draperies, have had time 
to realize bitterly that with the death of her boy- 
husband had passed all the careless enchantment of 
her youth, all the promised glories and dazzling 
ambitions she had held as Queen of France. Her 
thoughts would turn from the present grief to a strange 
future that called her beyond the seas, a future that 
was to hold for her so many passionate joys, so many 
sorrows, so tragic an end. In a little while she must 
pass away to her own grey kingdom. 

“ Adieu, France, cen est fait. Adieu , France, je pense 
ne vous revoir jamais plus .” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 
OD first deprived me of your father, and not 



VjTcontent with that, He has now deprived me of 
your brother, whom I loved you know not how much; 
and He has left me with three little children and a 
kingdom torn asunder, without a single soul I can turn 
to who is not possessed by party passion.” 

So wrote Catherine de’ Medici to her daughter, 
Elisabeth of Spain. The woman who penned these 
lines, so full of human feeling, had, in reality, just won 
the position for which she had longed and schemed 
for years. The reins were in her hands at last. For 
little Charles IX, the new King, was only ten years 
old, a dreamy, poetic boy, not likely to develop into a 
man of affairs. Charles was on the throne for fourteen 
years, and Catherine reigned all the time. She never 
won the formal title of Regent from any State authority, 
but she did not trouble much about titles. She had 
grasped real power and could afford to let the shadows 
go. 

From the day of the death of Francis II she knew 
that she must seem to choose between the Catholic 
faith, represented by the Guise family, and the Re¬ 
formed faith, represented by the Bourbons. She 
managed to give the impression of doing this without 


86 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


making any definite choice. She was anxious to have 
the best men on both sides in her counsels. 

Catherine, however, had one outstanding weakness. 
All her life she was subject to panic fears. She feared 
the power of Spain and Philip II more than anything 
on earth. She feared war. She was cravenly super¬ 
stitious, never taking any step without consulting 
astrologers and necromancers, and she often abode 
by their decisions or warnings from sheer cowardice. 
She feared the Guises at this moment so acutely that 
she could not be persuaded to any resolute action. 
She would not wholly trust herself and her son to any 
power. 

The little King was being educated in the new 
opinions. Reform was again the fashion among the 
great. Preches, those Huguenot services which had 
once been so strictly forbidden, were openly held, 
and the Lutheran psalms of Clement Marot were again 
sung in Court and camp. 

In the royal nurseries the Children of France were 
divided in their precocious religious views. Preches 
were held even in the apartments of the King, who, 
however, never forsook the Catholic faith. His 
brother Henri, as we have seen, was Huguenot in his 
sympathies to the point of persecuting his little sister 
Margot, who did not share his opinions. Francois, 
due d’Alenin, was six, and history has not recorded 
his religious convictions at that time. 

There is one story about Henri and the Guises which 
brings the boy to the foreground of the picture. 

The Duke, the Cardinal, and the due de Nemours, 
furious at the Huguenot training of the royal nursery, 
plotted to kidnap Henri, who would have proved a 
valuable pawn in the game. It was at Fontainebleau. 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


87 


He was playing with the due de Guise's own son, 
the young Prince de Joinville, when he was called from 
his play and asked if he were Papist or Huguenot. 
“ I am of my mother’s religion,” said the child, with 
an infantile craft not surprising in his mother’s son. 
Nemours asked the boy if he would like to go away 
with him to Lorraine, but he replied that he would stay 
with the King, his brother. The Guise boy now joined 
in the talk, having been well coached in his part, and 
pointed out to Henri the joys of travel and the beauties 
and pleasures which he would find in Lorraine. Henri, 
more and more interested, asked how they would go. 
He was told that he would get out of a window at night 
and drive off in a coach. This appealed to his ad¬ 
venturous spirit. It all sounded delightfully strange 
and exciting. The little Prince very naturally carried 
the whole story to his mother, and the plot was exposed. 

Feeling in the country now ran so high that it was no 
longer possible to avert civil war. The spark that set 
the whole realm in a blaze was a massacre at Vassy. 
In 1562 the due de Guise was passing through the 
little town on his way to attend Mass. Singing was 
heard in a barn, where about seven hundred Pro¬ 
testants were holding a service. Guise resolved to 
stop it. His soldiers attacked the unarmed wor¬ 
shippers, and sixty were killed, including women and 
children. 

Catherine, receiving the news of this fearful affair, 
was for once surprised into decided action. She 
forbade Guise the Court. He took no notice of her 
wrath, but entered Paris like a king, where he 
was received with all the honours of a conqueror. 
Protestant reprisals followed. Under Cond6 the whole 
Huguenot party broke into rebellion. 


88 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


At the outbreak of the war the royal children were 
separated. Catherine kept with her the King and 
her favourite child Henri, and sent Marguerite 
and the little due d’Alenin to Amboise, where they 
could continue their education in peace under tutors 
and governesses. The days were happy enough for 
the children, who loved each other very much. The 
early marriages of her sisters had thrown Marguerite 
on the sole companionship of her brothers from her 
babyhood. " To speak now of the beauty of this 
rare Princess : I believe that all those who are, will 
be, or ever have been, are plain beside it and cannot 
have beauty ; for the fire of hers so burns the wings of 
others that they dare not hover or even appear round 
it.” So writes the flatterer Brantome, but allowing 
for his exaggerations, there remains the certainty, 
borne out by the voices of all her contemporaries, 
that Margot was beautiful. In complexion she was 
dazzlingly fair ; her hair was black 1 and her eyes blue. 
She had a majestic carriage and a love for superb 
dress. There is a word-picture of her in a a gown 
of shimmering white satin, a trifle of rose-colour 
mingling in it, with a veil of lace crepe or Roman gauze 
thrown carelessly round her head, making goddesses 
. . . look like chambermaids beside her.” Another 
dress was of “ rose-coloured Spanish velvet covered 
with spangles, and with a cape of the same velvet, 
with plumes and jewels of such splendour as never was.” 

Margot inherited a great deal of her character from 

1 Fair hair was more fashionable, and Margot in later life adopted 
a golden wig, though Brantome says he saw her often wearing her 
own black hair. As an old lady, Margot went to much trouble 
and expense to keep herself in fair wigs. She kept several " tall, 
fair-haired footmen, who were shaved from time to time.” 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


89 


her grandfather, Francois I; she had his intellectual 
tastes, his generous love of art, his gifts of geniality 
and charm. Later events were to show that she in¬ 
herited also the definite lightness of his morals. The 
women of her race had all been pure in life till Margot’s 
career proved that it was possible for Valois daughters 
to draw characteristics as much from their fathers as 
their mothers. 

The passion of her life began in early girlhood. She 
ought to have been allowed to marry the young Henri, 
due de Guise. Her devotion is easily understood, for 
he was a prince of romance, an irresistible personality 
that captured the popular imagination. She saw in 
him the idol of Catholic France, the splendid courage¬ 
ous soldier who knew how to play the lover too. In 
his person were united a fine physique and the delicate 
attractive beauty of feature inherited from his Italian 
ancestors. Moreover, the boy and girl had been in¬ 
timately thrown together all their lives. A happy 
marriage was the one chance for a nature such as hers. 
But political difficulties came in the way, and Margot 
was doomed, as the wife of her cousin, Henri of 
Navarre, to endure the yoke of a very different and 
very unhappy marriage. 

Margot was eleven when her mother decided on 
taking the children a long journey through the realm 
of France. 

Political reasons for the journey would not trouble 
the children. The plan meant simply excitement and 
pleasure, a delightful holiday to boys and girl, who in 
the war-time could not have moved as usual from 
chateau to chateau. 

The Court left Paris, 14 January, 1564, a travelling 
party of eight hundred souls. Besides this number, 


90 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


each of the great nobles who joined the cortbge on the 
way brought his own army of followers. The amount 
of luggage, containing furniture and wardrobes, 
carried over the very bad roads may be imagined. 
Progress was extremely slow. The way was through 
Champagne and Lorraine to Bar-le-Duc, where fetes 
were held to celebrate the baptism of Claude de Valois* 
baby son. The winter was spent at Lyons. In spring 
the whole cavalcade made for Bayonne, where they 
were to meet the Queen of Spain. Margot in her 
Memoirs describes the splendid entertainments offered 
them at every stage in their journey. 

Nothing in the personal history of the Valois children 
is so moving as the story of this reunion at Bayonne. 
Catherine and the children had not met Elisabeth 
since her marriage, five years before. The moment 
held real joy for Catherine. Again for a moment her 
impressive personality shows in the pages of history as 
simply a woman and a mother, with all a mother’s 
instincts. She had always loved Elisabeth. Now, 
after five years of separation, she saw how the child 
had assumed her heritage of gracious womanhood, 
how the petted, childish Princess, the little “ Lady of 
the Peace,” had learned the dignity, the gravity, and 
the sweetness of a Queen. “ Taller than her sisters,” 
says Brant ome, “ her bearing had a grace compacted 
of the mingled grace of France and Spain.” Married 
for five years to Philip II, the most bigoted Catholic in 
Europe, and a fanatical foe to heresy, it is no matter of 
surprise that she was utterly out of sympathy with the 
ideas of the Reformed religion. Her mother found her 
rigid on the point. “ My dear daughter, you have 
become very Spanish.” “ I am Spanish, I own it, 
and in truth it is my duty to be so. But I am 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 91 

always your daughter—the same that you sent to 
Spain.” 

Before turning homewards Catherine writes : “ My 
daughter parted from us on the third of this month 
(August). I went on the same day to sleep at Hiron, 
that I might still have the joy of seeing her as long as I 
could.” A further glimpse is given in a Spanish letter. 
“ The adieux of the Queen of Spain to the Queen- 
Mother and the King were more heart-rending than 
words can say. There were floods of tears. The Con¬ 
stable came into the King’s room and told him he must 
not cry, because the foreigners, as well as his own 
subjects, might notice it, and a king ought never to cry. 
The King thanked the Constable, but he could not 
stop his tears.” 

No doubt the tears of Elisabeth, in spite of her 
Spanish training, were no less sad and uncontrolled. 
Stricken indeed would have been the hearts of all 
could they have looked a little forward into the 
future and known that they were never to meet again. 

The little Queen turned southward, back to the duty 
and dullness of her Spanish Court, there to finish the 
short remaining days of her life, and all the sumptuous, 
glittering cavalcade of the French King rode away from 
the frontier towards France. 

The Court returned to Paris in the beginning of 
March, 1566, after a journey lasting nearly two years. 

Descriptions written by those who saw and knew 
her make it possible to look at Catherine as she was in 
her later middle life, at the height of her power. The 
slight, elegant figure that had given her distinction in 
youth was lost. She was stout, and in fact, in old age, 
grew so fat that she moved with difficulty. She took 
no pains to avoid this development, for though she 


92 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


danced and hunted, riding astride with undiminished 
energy, she habitually indulged an enormous appetite. 
Her round, full face, olive complexioned, with its re¬ 
ceding chin and full lips, retained its smooth freshness. 
Her ash-coloured hair was always hidden under the 
black widow’s veil. The large, pale, prominent eyes 
still kept their secret expression. Her one beauty re¬ 
mained untouched by the years, the perfect moulding 
of the long white hands. 

Here and there light falls on domestic events in the 
family. The death of Elisabeth de Valois, Queen of 
Spain, in 1568, brought keen sorrow to Catherine and 
her children. In November, 1570, the young King was 
married. The chosen Princess was Elisabeth of 
Austria, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian II, a 
young girl of sixteen—“ rare in humility and all 
simplicity.” Her only child, Isabelle de France, was 
born a few months after St. Bartholomew’s Eve, 
27 October, 1572. The gentle Queen Elisabeth never 
held the first place in her husband’s estimation. It 
was already secured by Marie Touchet, a Huguenot 
lady whom Charles loved sincerely and constantly to 
the end of his life. 

The Court of the young Charles was as reckless, as 
sumptuous, as irresponsible as in the days of his 
father. Charles was unconventional in his tastes 
and habits, had boundless curiosity to see and to 
know all sorts and conditions of men, and gathered 
a strange medley round him. By nature he was 
kindly and genial, and as a child was straightforward 
and loved plain dealing. But no soul condemned to 
daily intercourse with Catherine could keep its can¬ 
dour. She never touched any young life intimately 
without ruining it. It was she who selected the comte 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


93 


de Retz as the King’s Governor. De Retz taught 
him to lie, and also to swear so much in his talk that 
Catherine found the habit very useful, as in the flood 
of strong language he let slip secrets not meant for her 
to hear. 

The best thing known about Charles is that he 
loved Admiral Coligny, who showed the impression¬ 
able boy the shining possibility of a united France, a 
country where Catholic and Huguenot might live 
in peace side by side. He taught him the ideals of 
tolerance and justice. Catherine, ever watchful, was 
jealous of his influence. At the same time she had no 
wish to quarrel with Coligny, for she wanted his help 
in bringing about the Protestant match for her 
daughter, Margot, with the young Henri, King of 
Navarre. At the moment she was throwing her 
authority into the scale against the Catholic party. 
She thought the marriage would ensure a lasting 
peace. 

The preparations for the wedding went forward. 
The approval of Margot herself was not asked. There 
was one poignant scene of bitter tears and reproaches 
when she lay stretched in despair upon an oaken chest 
and no one could comfort her. She had no real power 
to resist, and so the woman who loved Henri de Guise 
nerved herself to become the wife of Henri de Navarre. 1 
The bridegroom was not lacking in personal charm. 
He had much of the brilliant wit, sunshine of nature, 
and large, tolerant outlook on life that also belonged 
to the mind of Margot. He was a good-looking, rather 
large-featured young man, dark eyed and dark 

1 Henri de Navarre succeeded to the crown of France, as Henri 
IV, in 1589, on the extinction of the Valois branch. He was de¬ 
scended in the tenth degree from Louis IX. 


94 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


haired, not tall, but well-proportioned and full of 
grace. As husband and wife the pair knew nothing 
but unhappiness. 

The wedding has always been linked with the 
dreadful event which followed it immediately. *' The 
Red Marriage ” is written on the same page of history 
as the blackest deed that stained the century. 

A large family gathering was of course present, 
besides crowds, gentle and simple, drawn to Paris by 
the prospect of a series of sumptuous fetes. A crowd of 
Huguenot followers of the bridegroom poured into the 
city. Henri de Navarre was pledged neither to hear 
Mass nor to cross the threshold of the Cathedral of 
Notre-Dame. The pair were married on 8 August, 
1572, outside the great western door. At the last 
moment poor Margot’s heart failed her, and she was 
unwilling to make the responses. Her brother, the 
King, laid a hand on her head and gently bent it down, 
as if in assent. 

Margot has described her own dress on the occasion. 
“ I was robed in royal fashion with a crown and a cape 
of spotted ermine, which covered the front of my 
bodice, and I shone with the crown jewels and glistened 
in my wide blue mantle with its four yards of train, 
which were borne by three princesses.” 

The dress of her brother, King Charles, cost fifty 
thousand crowns. Henri of Anjou wore thirty-two 
large pearls in his hat, each of twelve carats’ weight. 
He and his brother, Alen^on, were dressed alike in 
pale yellow satin covered with embroideries and 
precious stones. 

I The wedding was followed by days of banquets, 
pageants, balls, and masquerades, when Catholic and 
Huguenot joined in an abandonment of revel. Yet 


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THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


95 


the royal family knew that they stood in danger 
between the two. 

The tragedy of St. Bartholomew was not an isolated 
act, it was an incident in an iniquitous war, called 
religious, but really political, one of a series of events, 
more terrible because more successful than any that 
had gone before. St. Bartholomew’s Eve is the 
supreme horror of the long-drawn struggle, because 
it happened in Paris, always strongly Catholic, and 
because it was the King himself who gave the command 
to kill. The idea of a general massacre did not origin¬ 
ate with Catherine or with the Guises. The mass of 
the people on both sid,es had for long looked upon such 
an event as an ultimate solution of the great quarrel, a 
final move in the game, and both sides had organized 
and carried out, all through the war, a series of mass¬ 
acres at different points. 

In the city of Paris an unsuccessful attempt on the 
life of Coligny had filled the air with rumours of con¬ 
spiracy, with fears of some important enterprise. 
Within the Louvre there was panic fear. A Huguenot 
rising was expected every hour. Catherine had lost 
her calm balance of mind, believing every report of 
conspiracy. A general massacre seemed to her the 
only way to secure the safety of the throne. But 
nothing could be done without the King. She alone 
could bring him to the decisive action—she alone 
knew how to induce his fits of madness, how to work 
on the poor unstable mind, and to turn the vacillating 
passionate thoughts into a channel of insanity. She 
must use all this horrible wisdom now. The King 
must be persuaded to it. History tells of one awful 
interview with his mother and his privy councillors, 
in which she tormented him into one of his violent 


96 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


furies by playing on his fears. For long the poor boy 
held out, but the mind gave way beneath the strain. 
" Kill them all, kill them all!" he shouted at last. 
He went out furiously, leaving Catherine, his brother 
Henri, and his councillors to finish the iniquitous 
debate. The plans were made. The demented King 
could now be counted upon to lend his authority to 
the plot; his homicidal desires increased as he gave 
them rein. He was assured of being in danger of 
dethronement and of assassination. 

The terrible night came at last. The ceremony of 
the Queen-Mother’s couches was over. In her room 
were gathered Catherine’s two daughters, Claude de 
Lorraine, who knew of the plot, and the newly made 
bride, Marguerite, Queen of Navarre, entirely ignorant 
of everything, who has left us a description of the 
scene. 

" I was sitting on a coffer beside my sister of Lorraine, 
who seemed to me exceedingly sad, when my mother, 
who was talking to several people, suddenly noticed I 
was there and told me to go to bed. As I made my 
curtsey to her, my sister seized my arm and stopping me, 
burst into tears. f Mon Dieu, my sister, do not go ! ’ 
she said, which terrified me greatly. The Queen per¬ 
ceived this, and calling my sister to her, forbade her 
to say anything to me. . . . Again my mother roughly 
commanded me to go to bed. My sister, with another 
burst of tears, bade me good-night, without daring to 
say a single word more ; and as for me, I found myself 
lost, transfixed, unable in the least to imagine what it 
was I had to dread. As soon as I was in my own closet 
I began to pray that God would take me into His pro¬ 
tection and would preserve me—from whom and 
what I knew not. . . . But I had the tears of my 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


97 


sister continually in my heart, and I could not sleep 
for the fears she had raised within me.” 

The fatal hour had come. The courtiers had 
attended the couches of the King. All was still and 
silent in the Louvre for the space of two hours. 

The day broke. Catherine had summoned her two 
sons, the King, reluctant now, but held firmly to his 
purpose, and Henri. Together they went to the wing 
of the Louvre, from whence they could watch “ the 
opening of the business.” The bell of the Church of 
St. Germain l’Auxerrois opposite the Louvre was to 
sound the fatal call. 

All three conspirators were in a state of panic. 
They cowered by a window watching events, not in 
triumph, but in an agony of terror. Henri has himself 
left a description of this moment. 

"As we were considering the consequences of so 
great an enterprise to which, to say the truths we had 
till then hardly given real reflection, of a sudden we 
heard the report of a pistol, but I could not say from 
what direction it came, or if any man were injured 
thereby. All that I know is this—that the mere 
sound so wounded us all three and entered so deep 
into our spirits that it did a hurt both to our senses 
and our reason. We returned to our first counsels and 
forthwith allowed the enterprise to take its course.” 

Coligny was the first of thousands to die that day. 
" Kill, kill! The King commands it ! ” Every 
history tells the story of this massacre, when the 
streets of Paris ran blood, and the Seine was blocked 
with floating corpses. It is said that the young King 
showed nothing but joy—the sight of blood had 
completely maddened him. He fired from the palace 
windows at the Protestants of the Faubourg St. 
7 


98 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Germain, who had come in boats to claim his royal 
protection. He felt pleasure in seeing the bodies 
floating in the Seine. “ Have I not played my game 
cleverly ? ” he said. “ Have I not learnt my lesson 
well, in the Latin of my forefather Louis XI ? ” 

The massacre continued for two days. Charles 
was with difficulty prevailed upon to stop it. Then, 
when the fit of madness and blood-lust was over, he 
correctly expressed his own position : " My head knew 
nothing about it.” 

But in his sane moments all peace was gone. He 
was a horribly haunted creature. Sometimes the fits of 
excitement and blood-mania came back, and, hideously 
ferocious, he would go into Paris to witness executions. 
The day his little daughter was born, he insisted on 
being present at the execution of two of the friends 
of Coligny. Either mad or sane, he never attempted 
to repudiate or deny his responsibility in the massacre. 
Paris was en fete from the moment the killing ceased. 
Solemn processions were organized to various churches, 
where gorgeous thanksgiving services were held, 
patronized by the royal family. Catherine emerged 
triumphant from the ordeal of her great coup. She 
was relieved, easy in her mind, prepared for the praise 
of the Catholic Church throughout Christendom. 

Messengers were proudly sent to tell the news to 
other sovereigns of Europe. Philip of Spain received 
the details of the massacre in a new way—he is said to 
have laughed for the first time in his life. His message 
to Catherine was of congratulation on having “ so 
successfully educated her son in her own image.” In 
the estimation of all those whose approval Catherine 
valued, France had won honour and glory. 

She cared little for adverse criticism. Her soul was 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


99 


not capable of remorse. All the punishment fell on the 
wretched Charles, who never recovered any measure 
of peace. His whole nature was altered, and from this 
time he freed himself from his mother’s influence. 
She could do nothing with him any more ; but he had 
served her purpose. 

" I have always said that I had to do with a lunatic, 
and that I could never make anything of him.” 

But in the dark wanderings of his diseased mind he 
cherished a growing hatred of both his brothers, a 
hatred begun in childhood and fostered by all around 
him. This hatred might have broken into flame at 
any moment, and it was a relief to Catherine when 
Henri, her favourite child, escaped the danger by 
being elected King of Poland in 1573, and went away 
somewhat unwillingly to his new kingdom. Catherine 
well knew, from the state of Charles’ health, that 
Henri would soon come back as King of France. 

Charles now hardly noticed anything, but lay in 
a stupor, only caring to listen to music. A black 
melancholy took possession of his soul, and the cloud 
never lifted. His wife, unloved as ever, but pathetic¬ 
ally faithful, was with him in these drear hours. 

“ I remember,” writes Brantome, " that when he 
lay in bed, and she came to visit him, on a sudden she 
sat down near him—a little apart, within sight of him, 
where she stayed, hardly saying a word. But the whole 
time she gazed so earnestly that you would have said 
that she clasped him close inside her heart.” 

The day before his death he was tended by his old 
Huguenot nurse, whom he always loved. 

" Ah, Nourrice,” he cried now and again, “ what 
blood and what murders ! Ah, what evil advice was 
given me ! Oh, my God, forgive me and have mercy 


100 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


on me ! I know not where I am, so bewildered and 
disturbed doth He make me. What will become of 
this country and what will become of me, into whose 
hands God commended it ? I am lost, I know it ! 
The nurse tried to console him. “ May the murders 
and the bloodshed be upon the head of those who 
compelled you to them, and upon your evil counsellors.” 
But he was beyond comfort and soon beyond suffering 
too. He asked for Henri of Navarre at the very last. 

“ I trust in you alone to look after my wife and 
my daughter. Pray God for me. Farewell! I rejoice 
that I leave no male child to wear the crown after me.” 
He did not speak again. 

The wise doctors of the day put their heads together 
and decided that Charles had brought about his own 
death by excessive blowing of the hunting horn. 

Henri, King of Poland, was now King of France. 
He was crowned in February, 1575. Two days after¬ 
wards, he married Louise de Vaudemont—a pretty girl 
of the family of Lorraine. She remained devoted to 
the King, her husband, as long as he lived, but met 
with very little affection in return. 

Henri III was now twenty-four, and any attributes 
of the soldier or the man in his nature had disappeared. 
He was hopelessly inglorious, hopelessly decadent and 
effeminate. His undignified follies were endless. 
Now he gave audience to foreign ambassadors with a 
basketful of puppies suspended from his neck by a 
broad silk ribbon; now he indulged in devotional freaks, 
making pilgrimage to churches with dangling rosaries, 
telling his beads in the street, organizing immense and 
strange processions ; now he gave Court balls, at which 
he appeared in a woman’s low-necked dress, covered 
with pearls. His favourites aimed at nothing but 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


101 


encouraging his madness. Against the mignons, with 
their painted faces and frizzled hair, even Catherine 
was impotent. She still adored Henri, but got nothing 
from him but contempt. He kept her entirely out of 
his counsels. Almost for the first time it is possible 
to feel real pity for Catherine. “ Give orders,” she 
entreats, “ for some one to tell me how your affairs are 
going. I do not ask this because I wish to control 
them, but because, if they go well, my heart will be at 
ease, and if they go ill, I can help your trouble. . . . 
For you are my all.” 

Saddest among all forlorn figures of little unwanted 
children is that of the one descendant of the Valois 
Kings. A Child of France still remained at Court, but 
so sad, so obscure a little personality, that history 
passes her over with scarcely a word. This child was 
Isabelle Marie, the little neglected daughter and only 
child of Charles IX and his wife Elisabeth of Austria. 
The prospect of the birth of this child in 1572 was 
looked upon as an event of momentous importance; 
it was hailed as the salvation of France, as the resur¬ 
rection of the dying House of Valois. Then came the 
collapse of all excitement, the destruction of the fairy 
edifice of a nation’s hope. The royal child was not 
a Dauphin, but a girl. As a girl her coming meant 
nothing, and worse than nothing, for her maintenance 
would be a heavy expense to the State. Poor little 
unconsidered pawn in the great game of Court intrigue, 
her obscure life was lived out in the shadows. 

Isabelle Marie’s father died when she was a year and 
a half old. When she was three her mother, Queen 
Elisabeth of France, deserted her. She went to Blois 
to see the child for the last time in August, 1575. In 
December she went back to her parents in Vienna, 


102 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


leaving the little girl to the mercies of Catherine de' 
Medici. No one made any attempt to save her from 
this fate, or to lighten the sorrowful days of her baby¬ 
hood. The child was pathetically conscious of the 
neglect and unkindness that overshadowed her life. 
In small and isolated apartments in the dark palace of 
the Louvre—a most unhealthy spot—or at Amboise, 
her five short years were spent. Immersed in State 
affairs, Catherine de’ Medici felt no interest in the 
sickly and unattractive little girl, though she was the 
only child of her dead son. It is said that the Princess 
adored the memory of her father and wept his loss for 
hours. Of course it is not possible that she actually 
remembered him, but being a precocious little being, 
she knew well enough that his death was the cause of 
the neglect she suffered. The one person who was 
fitfully kind to her was her uncle, Henri III, who petted 
her as he would have petted a kitten. The accident 
of her sex had made him King, and perhaps he remem¬ 
bered this fact. But there was no constant companion¬ 
ship, and the child’s feelings were daily and hourly 
wounded among the paid attendants who did for her 
the offices which her royal relatives should have per¬ 
formed. “ La Petite Madame ,” as she was called at 
Court, once was ill for three days in her dreary 
quarters : not a single relative came near her. Her 
heart was breaking. At the end of three days the 
King came. When Isabelle heard his step she pre¬ 
tended to be asleep, and turned over on her side away 
from him. Three times the King called her by name, 
but she would hear nothing. Her governess came 
forward and insisted on her turning to greet him. 
She gazed at the King with pathetic eyes full of tears. 
The King took her in his arms, kissed and fondled her, 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


103 


but there was no responsive caress. She would not 
speak a word. When he left her the governess asked 
why she had received her uncle in this manner. It is 
certain that a child of four or five years old could 
not have replied as the historians record : “ How, 
Madame, could I be expected to embrace and to show 
pleasure at the visit of my uncle, when I have been ill 
three days, and he has never once visited me, or sent 
any message to make inquiry ? I, who am his niece, 
the daughter of his elder brother, and who does no 
dishonour to his line.” But some reply, bearing this 
sense, more childish, more moving, the poor little girl 
must have given. All her life she was in a decline. 
She was not a member of a laughing group of children, 
able to forget ill-health in play and companionship. 
Lonely in life as in death, the only Child of France 
quitted the scene at five years old. 1 

Except for this pitiful and appealing little figure 
there was no royal child at Court for more than 
forty years. The race of the Valois was nearing 
extinction. 

Catherine had now only one son and one daughter 
left of her family of ten. She had never loved Alengon, 
yet his death caused her pain enough, if her own letter 
on the subject was sincere. 

“ You can imagine what a misery it is to me to live 
so long that I see every one die before me. And 
although I know well enough that we must bow to 
the will of God, that all belongs to Him, that He only 
lends us our children for as long as He pleases, all the 
same, nature cannot contrive so well but that one 
resents the loss one suffers, and I . . . have greater 

1 Isabelle Marie died in the Hotel d'Anjou in Paris, 9 April, 1578. 
She was buried at St. Denis. 


104 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


reason to complain of my sorrow, seeing that all my 
sons are taken from me, excepting the single one 
who remains.” 

The end was not now far off for Catherine. The 
peace for which she had always longed never came, 
one civil war succeeding another in spite of her 
efforts. 

At the Castle of Blois, on the 5th of January, 1589, 
Catherine de’ Medici died. 

“ A few of her servants and some of her 
familiars wept for her, and so did the King—a 
very little.” 

She was refused burial at St. Denis 1 beside her 
husband in the splendid Renaissance tomb she had 
built. The Parisians would not allow it, and threatened 
to throw the body in the Seine or into the common 
sewer if it were brought there. The great Queen was 
given burial without royal ceremony in an obscure 
grave at Blois. 

The reign of the last of the Valois was now nearly 
at an end. Henri III outlived his mother only a few 
months. He was assassinated by a little monk, Jacques 
Clement, in August, 1589, who thus brought an infamous 
reign to an end. The King lived long enough after 
the blow to name Henri of Navarre as his successor, 
pointing out that his Huguenot creed need be no 
bar, for it could be easily changed. The heir fully 
realized that the people of Paris would not endure 
a Huguenot king, except at the point of the sword. 
“ Paris is well worth a Mass,” he said. 

The Valois dynasty had now become only a memory. 

1 Years afterwards the body of Catherine de’ Medici was removed 
from Blois and buried at St. Denis, to be again disinterred at the 
Revolution. 


THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 


105 


One representative alone remained alive, Marguerite, 
Oueen of Navarre, and now Queen of France. 

Space fails to pursue the fascinating Margot through 
the mazes of her astonishing career. She presents 
one of the most complex and remarkable characters 
in all the pages of history. Like Marguerite of 
Angouleme, she loved the things of the mind and 
the spirit, though she was not capable of her high- 
souled enthusiasms. All great energies in man and all 
efforts towards human progress in life and in art 
appealed to her nature. As a wife, her infidelities 
were so flagrant that even the tolerant Henri of 
Navarre would not live with her. As she grew older, 
her peculiarities, like her dress, became grotesque. 
The exaggerations of her later life seem in a manner 
epitomized by the tradition of her celebrated petticoat, 
the vertugadin, full of pockets, in which were kept 
the hearts of her dead lovers, all in little silver boxes. 
This uncomfortable garment, it was supposed, she 
always wore, and at night it was hung up by her 
bed. 

Henri IV got his marriage with Margot annulled in 
1598. She had struggled valiantly in opposition 
during six years of negotiations, but when the divorce 
was accomplished, she accepted defeat in a philosophic 
spirit. She built herself palaces and made friends 
with the King’s children. 

With the spirit of Margot passes away, not only the 
last vestige of a fatal dynasty, but the last vestige of 
a whole age. A link between the new world and the 
old, Margot, in the closing years of life, must have 
realized how utterly her forbears and her brothers, 
the Valois Kings, belonged to their own century, and 
that their personalities would have been impossible 


106 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


to the thought and energies of the new. Already, 
before the close of the sixteenth century, their forms 
and their traditions seem remote and far away. The 
kings of the House of Valois, like the kings of ages 
past, have gathered and gone by together. 


CHAPTER VII 


CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 

T HE re-marriage of Henri IV was greatly 
desired in France. There was no heir to the 
throne. A match was arranged with Marie de’ Medici, 
a niece of Ferdinand, Grand Duke of Tuscany, who 
had once been a cardinal. Henri had borrowed 
money from the Grand Duke, and in return promised 
to marry his niece Marie, whom, of course, he had 
never seen. He was shown her portrait, painted 
when she was nineteen. It was that of a very beauti¬ 
ful girl. The marriage was celebrated by proxy at 
Florence in October 1599. 

When Henri went to meet his bride at Lyons, he 
found her decidedly unlike her portrait. Marie was 
now twenty-seven. She had a stout figure and round 
expressionless eyes. Henri was a genial spirit and 
loved responsiveness in others. He encountered in 
Marie a cold, indifferent manner, and want of wit. 
On her part she thought the King old and disagreeable 
in appearance, and believed him to be a heretic at 
heart. Soon the ill-matched pair were to discover 
worse disabilities. The new Queen proved proud 
and hot tempered, and had a good deal of peevish 
obstinacy. Henri could make nothing of her. She 
lived in a state of chronic complaint at his 

107 


108 CHILDREN OF FRANCE 

frequent and open infidelities. Quarrels began at 
once. 

Marie, however, lost no time in obtaining the first 
place at Court and in the estimation of the whole 
country. She gave the King children. 1 

In 1601, after fifty-seven years, a Dauphin was 
again born to France—the boy who at nine years 
old was fated to succeed as Louis XIII. 

The birth was awaited with the most intense 
anxiety. A magnificent cradle, sent by the Grand 
Duchess of Tuscany, was in readiness for the Dauphin. 
It had a canopy of white damask and silver. The 
Pope was his godfather and supplied the layette : 
“ bands, blankets, cap, and other infant necessaries 
blessed by His Holiness.” The baby was robust, 
and certainly must have needed a sturdy hold on 
life to survive the ceremonies of his first appearance. 
Wine was at once given to the presumably protesting 
infant, and he was then washed with red wine and 
oil, and his head anointed with wine and oil of roses. 
Then his father blessed him, and placing a sword 

1 The children of Henri IV and Marie de’ Medici were as follows :— 

(1) Louis XIII, born at Fontainebleau, 27 September, i6oi t ; 
married Anne of Austria 18 October, 1615 ; died at St. Germain 
14 May, 1643. 

(2) Elisabeth de France, born 22 November, 1602 ; married 
Philip IV of Spain 1615 ; died 6 October, 1644. 

(3) Christine, born 10 February, 1606 ; married 10 February, 
1619, Prince of Piedmont; died 27 December, 1663. 

(4) Nicolas de France, due d’Orleans, born 16 April, 1607; 
died 17 November, 1611. 

(5) Gaston Jean Baptiste, born at Fontainebleau, 7 April, 
1608 ; married first, 1626, Marie, Duchesse de Montpensier, and 
secondly, Marguerite de Lorraine in 1632 ; died 2 February, 1660. 

(6) Henriette Marie, born 26 November, 1609; married, n 
May, 1625, to Charles I of England ; died at Colombes 10 
September, 1669. 


CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 


109 


between his little hands, he prayed that it might be 
used for God’s glory alone, and in defence of the 
French people. 

The health of the Queen does not seem to have 
been considered at this triumphant moment. All the 
courtiers—an excited throng—were admitted to her 
room. The nurse alone showed a glimmering of sense 
and ventured to remonstrate. The King put his hand 
on her shoulder. " Hush, hush ! This child belongs 
to all the world. Let every one rejoice.” He cele¬ 
brated the event by kissing every one at Court. 

Just a year after the Dauphin came his sister 
Elisabeth. Marie was bitterly disappointed at the 
sex of the child. A monk, whom the Pope had once 
sent her, supposed to be gifted with second sight, had 
truly predicted, when she was a girl, that she would be 
Queen of France. He had now also assured her that 
the baby was to be a boy, and that she would have 
three sons. Marie considered herself utterly defrauded 
when Elisabeth made her appearance. Weeping 
passionate tears she called the baby Ragasche, and 
would not be comforted. The King did his best to 
bring her to reason, reminding her that if she herself 
had not been a girl she would not have been Queen of 
France. No other child was born for five years, and 
then the birth of another girl, Christine, caused the 
same scene to be enacted again. At the birth of this 
second daughter a storm of disappointment swept the 
country. 

The infant mortality of the day was terribly high; 
every parent expected to lose children, and in this 
case the hopes of the nation hung on the frail life of 
the Dauphin Louis. But the year after, another boy 
was born, Nicolas, due d’Orleans, and again, a year after, 


110 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Gaston, due d’Anjou. When, in 1609, the last of the 
family proved a daughter, the little Henriette Marie, 
who was afterwards to link her destiny with the dark 
fortunes of the British Stuarts, the nation could afford 
to look tolerantly upon the event. 

The earliest years of these children were by far 
the happiest they were destined to know. They 
lived in the light of a father’s devotion. Henri IV 
lavished care and love upon the little group which 
they were never to experience again. 

Perhaps partly owing to a care then by no means 
the rule in any nursery, none of his children died in 
infancy. He remembered that he himself was the sole 
survivor of four brothers. The eldest, the due de 
Beaumont, being entrusted to the care of a governess, 
who felt the cold, was suffocated as an infant, by too 
many clothes in a hot room. The youngest brother, 
the due de Marie, met a more violent fate. His nurse 
and one of the gentlemen of the household were 
amusing themselves by passing the infant from one 
window to another when he was accidentally dropped 
and killed. Henri IV ascribed his own survival to 
the prompt action of his grandfather, the King of 
Navarre, who seized upon Henri, immediately after 
he was born, wrapped him in the corner of his dressing- 
gown, and after rubbing his lips with garlic, adminis¬ 
tered a dose of Juragon wine—a treatment which the 
newly born atom was supposed to relish. At all 
events, he survived these attentions, which were 
indeed safe and sensible compared with those usually 
meted out to infants at that time. The rules prescribed 
in the royal nurseries sometimes involved positive 
cruelty. In the service of every royal baby there was 
an official called a “ Remueuse,” or “ Rocker.” One of 


CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 


111 


the duties of this attendant was to turn the infant over 
in its cradle at stated intervals, and this was punctually 
done, whether the poor child was asleep or awake. 
No matter how much it cried between whiles, rigid 
etiquette forbade that it should be turned so much 
as an inch until the hour struck. Even if a pin were 
running into the child she was utterly forbidden to 
give relief by removing it. Before the little victim 
might be touched the proper official must be found 
and brought to the cradle. It will be realized that a 
Child of France might suffer many hardships, in spite 
of its army of women, Grooms of the Chamber, 
nurses, governesses, and Children of Honour. 

Henri IV, while not attempting to break through 
the disastrous etiquette of his nursery, remembered his 
grandfather’s precepts and devoted time and thought 
to the children’s health, insisting on immense pre¬ 
cautions in the midst of the endless epidemics of the 
day. The chief home of the children was the Palace 
of St. Germain, but, as in former generations, much 
time was spent in progresses from chateau to chateau, 
the course of the plague or other epidemic diseases 
deciding the direction of travel. Smallpox was always 
so prevalent that no measures were taken to avoid it, 
although the mortality was frightful, and of those who 
recovered, hardly any escaped loss of health or dis¬ 
figurement. A tender father such as Henri IV must 
have felt that parentage was an anxious and precarious 
affair. The children’s mother, Marie de’ Medici, was 
extraordinarily indifferent to her children. Occupied 
with her personal schemes, and engrossed in maintain¬ 
ing the splendours of Court life, she wasted no time 
on domesticities. Education was left in the hands 
of Madame de Monglat, and any further interest 


112 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


shown by the Queen in her children’s welfare was 
concerned with disciplinary methods, rewards, and 
punishments. There was no love, no understanding, no 
sympathy. 

The Dauphin Louis, naturally headstrong and im¬ 
perious, showed early evidence of the total failure of 
his mother’s harsh methods. The only happy glimpses 
of the poor child are those when he is seen with his 
father, who liked to have him at his table, to give him 
mouthfuls of jelly and wine, or to toss him an orange. 
He lovingly watched him with his toys, a silver dinner- 
set and soldiers. When he was four the boy received 
a present of a musket and bandolier with ammunition. 

These manly toys were covered with gold and silver 
work, and the bullets were of gold. 

All the children rejoiced in the companionship of 
their father, but the mother’s appearance on the scene, 
cold and critical, put an end to all light-hearted play. 
The stormy heart of Catherine de’ Medici, with all its 
dark passions, knew a kind of gusty affection for some 
of her children, but nothing moved Marie de’ Medici. 
In spite of her iron rule she could form no habit of 
obedience in Louis. Even in such trifles as the taking 
of medicine—in those days doubtless a very nauseous 
necessity—it took the persuasions of six people to 
induce him to swallow a dose. 

Except in his home, where he met with the treatment 
of a slave, this child was hailed as a demi-god. Con¬ 
veyed in a sumptuous litter, he paid State visits to the 
city of Paris, where the populace received him with 
almost religious adoration. Ill-treated and daily 
humiliated in his own family, he yet knew himself to 
be the object of unbounded devotion in the country. 
The effect on his nature was fatal. Gradually his 


CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 113 

character darkened, and he became reserved and 
sullen. 

The child hated the idea of being King. “ I will 
not be King—I will not ! ” he declared. Before his 
public baptism he was warned to behave well, and the 
foolish threat was added that if he did not do so 
another Dauphin would be substituted. His answer 
sums up the whole tragedy of his young life : “I should 
not care. I should be very glad. I should then go 
where I pleased, and no one would follow me.” 

The poor child was always followed by groups of 
those composing his immense household. The joy 
of solitude was denied to all royal persons. 

On Maundy Thursday it had been the immemorial 
custom of the French Kings to wash the feet of thirteen 
poor men. On one occasion when this was to be 
done, Henri was ill. He desired his little boy, the 
Dauphin, to take his place and perform the ceremony. 
Louis flatly refused. His father was obliged to make 
a personal appeal to his better feelings, and won his 
obedience at last so far as to persuade him to appear 
in the great ball-room where the rite was to be cele¬ 
brated. The child went there in state, followed by 
the Princes of the Blood. The thirteen poor men 
were seated on a platform. All was in readiness, 
and the ceremony about to begin, when Louis suddenly 
discovered that the basin to be used was his own. 
This was the last straw. He burst into tears and 
refused altogether to wash the poor men’s feet. Ulti¬ 
mately, the chaplain did it. The Dauphin was asked 
why he objected to doing a duty that was done by the 
King ? He sensibly replied that he was not the King. 

Henri spoilt the boy. “He is in my place. Get 
out of it,” Louis said to his father at Mass. The King 
8 


114 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


obeyed. He longed for the child’s affection and was 
pathetically grateful for any demonstrative love. 
“ At five the King comes home from hunting,” writes 
an old diarist. “ The Dauphin goes running to meet 
the King, who grows pale with joy and gladness, 
kisses and holds him long embraced.” 

It may easily be imagined how much joy and pride 
the father would feel in the following letter :— 

“ Father, —I have given mother a great deal of 
pleasure since you went away. I went to war in her 
room and to reconnoitre the enemy. They were all 
crowding together in the alcove of mother’s bed, in 
which I slept. You may be sure I roused them with 
my drum. Father, I have been to your arsenal, 
and M. de Rong showed me the whole place full of 
beautiful weapons, and lots and lots of big guns, and 
then he gave me some very good jam and a pretty 
little silver cannon. Now all I want is a little horse 
to pull it. To-morrow mother is going to send me 
back to St. Germain, where I will pray hard to God 
for you, father, so that He may keep you from all 
danger and make me a very good boy, and give 
me the happiness of soon being able to pay you my 
very humble respects. I’m very sleepy, father. Fifi 
Vendome will tell you everything else, and I can but 
add that I am, father, your very humble and very 
obedient son and servant, Dauphin ” 

Louis, though a strange child, had certain engaging 
qualities. The affection of his father was the only 
thing that moved his emotion, but he had generous 
impulses. Something of the princely sense of noblesse 
oblige in little things would make him wish to overpay 
services done for him. Madame de Monglat remon- 


CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 


115 


strated with him for asking four crowns for the porters 
who had carried his luggage to Fontainebleau. Two 
crowns, she pointed out, would be ample payment. 
" Ah, no, Mamanga, they are so poor ! ” An un¬ 
fortunate little Red Indian had cruelly been sent over 
from Quebec as a curiosity to amuse the Court, where 
le petit Canada awakened a fleeting interest. The 
exile paid for the amusing experiment with his life, 
very quickly contracting consumption. Louis, the 
Dauphin, saw the pitiful little object from a palace 
window and sent out some of his soup. Shortly after 
he reserved half his own dessert of cherries and had 
them put aside to be given to le petit Canada . It 
was too late, however, for the small exile had died the 
day before. 

It was difficult to win the affection or the respect of 
the Dauphin and to be quite at ease with a child of 
so much coldness and dignity. With the fatal mis¬ 
understanding of child-nature common in that age, the 
boy was from his babyhood the victim of a system of 
repression. He was not even allowed to outgrow his 
toys—they were taken from him; or rather he was 
coerced into making his favourites up into a parcel 
for his younger brother. 

The Dauphin, with his sisters Elisabeth and Christine, 
were all baptized in a batch in 1606. Private baptism 
was of course always administered a few days after 
birth, but the public ceremony was postponed until 
it could be made the pretext for a splendid pageant. 
The function was to have taken place at Notre- 
Dame in Paris, but the plague having lately arrived 
in the city the Court hurriedly removed to Fontaine¬ 
bleau. The great hall there not being large enough 
to contain the throng of guests, the immense area of 


116 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


the courtyard, still the most beautiful feature of the 
palace, was enclosed with gold woven tapestry. The 
space was lined by the Swiss Guards, each holding a 
lighted torch. The Queen’s robe on this occasion was 
of velvet and gold, studded with thirty-two thousand 
pearls and three thousand diamonds. The whole 
scene was of unrivalled glory, even in that age of 
dazzling pageantry. 

It was during the heat of summer, but the children 
were all three placed in State beds, covered with ermine 
draperies, under canopies of.crimson velvet. Each 
bed was surrounded with privileged officials. The 
outer coverlet on Princess Elisabeth was withdrawn 
by two countesses, a third lifted her from the bed, 
a fourth undressed her, and a fifth robed her in 
state costume. The baby Christine went through 
the same performance, while the little Dauphin was 
attended only by Princesses of the Blood. 

Arrived at the scene of the ceremony, the Dauphin 
was placed upon a table. The officiating Cardinal 
approached him. The affair must all have been very 
well rehearsed, for when asked, “ Sir, what do you 
ask ? ” the five-year-old boy replied, “ The Sacramental 
ceremonies of baptism.” “ Have you already been 
baptized ? ” “Yes, Dieu merci .” He recited with¬ 
out hesitation the Lord’s Prayer, the “ Hail, Mary,” 
and the Creed. In the midst of the stupendous 
solemnity one touch reminded the courtiers that, after 
all, he was a little human boy of five years old. When 
the salt of exorcism was placed in his mouth he said, 
“ I’ve swallowed it, and it was quite nice.” 

Any real happiness vouchsafed to Louis came in 
early youth, when all the six royal children, united in 
the fear of their mother and her methods, loved each 


CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 


117 


other, indulged in the innocent quarrels so soon 
forgotten, played, studied, hunted, danced, and acted 
together. 

Elisabeth, fair haired and dark eyed, inherited the 
good looks of her mother’s early girlhood; she was 
high spirited and intellectual. Little Christine was 
very delicate; there are few records of her individuality, 
and she is chiefly mentioned in connexion with various 
infantile diseases. The other three children were 
much younger than the Dauphin, but he loved them 
very warmly, and was fond of their company. It was 
a grave mistake to remove him from the nursery at 
St. Germain at seven years old, and from the care of 
“ Mamanga,” to quarters at the Louvre, under the 
tutorship of M. de Souvre. All the familiar wholesome 
give and take of nursery life among those who loved 
him, but did not trouble to pay him respect, would 
have been far better for his training than intercourse 
only with enfants d'honneur —boys of his own age, 
chosen among the distinguished families of France. 
To these companions he was naturally always Dauphin 
and master. 

All the children would know very well their father’s 
first wife. Marguerite de Valois—once a queen and 
now a somewhat erratic but entertaining private 
person, living in the Chateau de Madrid, in the Bois 
de Boulogne—one of the hunting lodges of Francois I 
—or at the Hotel de Sens, or in the palace she built 
for herself opposite the Louvre. Extravagant, quarrel¬ 
some, racy, even as his ex-wife her activities continued 
to give the King a good deal of trouble, but he and 
Queen Marie received her with the highest honours. 

The royal children paid Margot state visits, and 
must have loved the flood of her kindness and quaint 


118 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


humour, her large good nature, her vivid interest in 
all that concerned the King and the Court. Nothing 
pleased her so much as to bring back, here and there, 
the forgotten glories of the dead Valois days, rein¬ 
troducing old-world dances, ballets, and masks such 
as she had known in her brilliant girlhood. She 
sincerely loved her husband’s children, especially the 
Dauphin, to whom, at her death in 1615, she bequeathed 
her property. 

The main event of Henri’s reign happened in 1598, 
before his second marriage, when the Edict of Nantes 
was issued, a decree that guaranteed liberty of thought 
and freedom of worship to the Huguenots. 

The King’s example in forsaking the Protestant 
faith had been followed by nearly all the great Hugue¬ 
not nobles. The reformed faith lost ground at Court 
and in the great castles. After the Edict the country 
was at peace. 

It was perhaps natural that the King got most of 
the praise. No King of France was ever so beloved. 
He said he wanted every peasant to have a fowl in 
the pot on Sunday. This simple aspiration raised 
him to a pinnacle of popularity which has been main¬ 
tained ever since. 1 He was a tried soldier, manly, 
and practical, with more than a touch of the dash and 
hazardous spirit belonging to the old chivalry that 
France still worshipped. 

Though he knew the value of peace, Henri allowed 
himself to be drawn into preparations for war. In 

1 At the Revolution, when all the royal graves in St. Denis were 
desecrated by the mob, 12 October, 1793, and the bodies thrown into 
lime and burnt, the body of Henri IV was the first to be disinterred. 
A soldier looking upon it exclaimed, “I, too, am a French soldier! " 
and reverently cut off a lock of the beard. The statue of Henri IV 
was the last to fall in Paris in August, 1792. 


CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 


119 


the spring of 1610 he had collected three great armies 
and intended to attack both Spain and Austria. All 
preparations were made, but wars in those days seem 
to have waited for the convenience of domestic events. 
He only delayed to see the coronation of his Queen. 

Marie de’ Medici had given a good deal of trouble 
about her coronation, but it must be conceded that 
she had grounds of dissatisfaction in the fact that it 
had been put off or delayed for ten years. She was 
now pressing the matter with determination. She had 
a bad temper, and if she lost it she took five days to 
recover it. Henri loved and sought domestic peace. 
He gave in at last, and the date of the coronation 
was fixed for 13 May at St. Denis. 

From that moment the King became sad and 
distrait. He longed to be with his army, then setting 
forth for the Netherlands, and he was filled besides 
with premonitions of disaster. “ Ah, my friend/’ 
he said to Sully in Paris, “ how I dislike this corona¬ 
tion ! No, I shall never leave this town : they will 
kill me ; there is nothing else for them to do.” There 
had already been at least five attempts on the King’s 
life. He had many enemies, both personal and 
political. 

The Queen was crowned with all the magnificence 
she claimed. All her children were present. On 
leaving the Church the King wished her to go out 
first. She refused. " Passez, Madame,’’ he said, with 
emotion, (( c’est a vous de commander ici.” As if 
sharing the sad presentiments of the King, the 
populace showed no enthusiasm. The Queen’s 
triumphal entry into Paris was fixed for 15 May. On 
the 16th Henri would be at last free to join his army. 
He had thus two days to spend at the Louvre. 


120 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Melancholy and restless, he found them insupportably 
long. On the 14th, part of the day was spent with 
his children. The baby Henriette was brought to see 
him, and he played with her and Gaston. Elisabeth 
and Christine were brought from St. Denis to the 
Louvre by Madame de Monglat. They were taken to 
see their father, who kissed them and asked if they 
had dined. Madame de Monglat said they had dined 
before leaving St. Denis. It must have been the first 
visit of the two little girls to the royal burial-place. 
They were full of having seen the relics and treasures 
there. Gaston (then due d’Anjou) had looked 
fixedly at the figure on one tomb. Some one said it 
was his father. The boy not unnaturally cried and 
screamed. “It is because he loves me/’ said the 
King. “ He cried ‘ Papa' all through the ceremony 
yesterday.” Nothing pleased and flattered him so 
much as any manifestation of his children’s love. As 
he left the Louvre that fatal afternoon he saw his 
little Gaston in the courtyard of the palace, and 
stopped to speak to the boy, who was then two years 
old. He pointed out the courtier Bassompierre and 
asked the child if he knew him. Then he passed on to 
his coach, which seems to have been the only convey¬ 
ance the King and Queen possessed between them. It 
was a long, low, open cart, with a canopy supported 
by eight pillars. The floor was very near the ground. 
There were no windows and no sides. Leather blinds 
were fixed to the roof. It must have been a roomy 
vehicle, as the due d’Epernon, the due de Montbazon, 
and five other gentlemen were inside. The coachman 
asked for orders. The King only said, “Take me 
away from here.” They drove towards the Arsenal. 
The curtains of the carriage were raised, according to 


CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 


121 


custom. His courtiers drew his attention in the 
streets to the decorations arranged for the entry of 
the Queen. He refused even to glance at them. The 
carriage was now stopped for a moment in the rue de 
la Ferronnerie, a very narrow street, by two heavy 
carts, one loaded with wine, and one with hay. The 
running footmen, who were always beside the King’s 
carriage, left it to help clear a passage. Now the 
murderer, who had followed all the way, saw and 
seized his chance. He got upon one of the wheels, 
thrust himself into the carriage, and, leaning across 
d’Epernon, struck the King in the side with his knife. 
The King said, " I am wounded; it is nothing,” but 
there was time to strike him yet again, piercing the 
heart and killing him instantly. 

With the stoical courage of the fanatic, the murderer 
made no attempt either to escape arrest or to deny his 
crime. 

The carriage with the King’s dead body drove back 
to the Louvre, now a scene of indescribable confusion 
and grief. The frantic sobs of the Queen could be 
heard before she entered the death-chamber with her 
question, “ Is the King dead ? ” " Madame, the Kings 

of France do not die. This is not the moment to 
abandon yourself to grief—it is the time to ensure the 
tranquillity of the kingdom.” 

Outside in the city, where no certain news was 
known as yet, there were cries and dark rumours. The 
churches were filled with pitiful prayers to God not 
to take away the King. 

The little sons and daughters of France, with the 
despairing Queen, assembled at the death-bed. The 
young Dauphin, now Louis XIII, was beside her. He 
was eight years old. “ Pray with me, my son. There 


122 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


lies your happiness and mine. The sturdy tree has 
fallen, and the saplings are still weak and frail.” 

Louis was in terror. He cried passionately, and 
said if only he had been present when the deed was 
done, he would have killed the murderer with his sword. 
None of the children were spared the knowledge of 
what had happened, or the scenes that followed. 
Gaston demanded a dagger and said he would not 
outlive his father. It is not surprising that the little 
King begged that night to be allowed to sleep with 
his tutor, M. de Souvr6, “ lest dreams should come.” 

The three princes assisted at the ceremony of 
sprinkling their father’s body with holy water as it 
lay in state in the lower hall of the Louvre. The little 
girls were also present, even the baby Henriette Marie, 
only a few months old, had an asperge put into 
her little hand that she might also take part in the 
ceremony. Louis was dressed in purple, and the long 
train of his cloak was borne by Princes of the Blood. 
The two smaller boys cried bitterly. Louis never shed 
a tear. 

Marie de’ Medici claimed undivided authority over 
state affairs at the assembled Parliament. It was 
granted, and her regency proclaimed. Louis made a 
pathetic little speech. 

After his accession he was hardly ever with his 
brothers and sisters. The Queen’s wish was to isolate 
him as much as possible. He liked the companion¬ 
ship of his half-brother, Alexandre de Vendome, three 
years older than himself. The Queen had him sent 
away. " They want to take him away,” said Louis, 
“ because I love him.” He felt a settled bitterness 
towards his mother which never lifted. 

The coronation of the young King, Louis XIII, was 



LOUIS XIII AS A BOY 

From a painting in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence 




















































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CHILDREN OF HENRI IV 


123 


held at Reims five months after his father’s death. 
At the ceremony he bore himself with a good deal less 
dignity than he usually showed, and it is a pleasant 
relief to know that he could be like an ordinary 
mischievous little boy. The Court stayed at Reims 
several days to celebrate a series of solemn functions. 
Louis varied the programme by playing at horses 
with his enfants d’honneur. 

The coronation ceremonies lasted two hours. The 
anointing over, the King had to be kissed by all the 
peers. He playfully boxed the ears of the due 
d’Elboeuf, and tried to tread on the train of the 
dignified official who preceded him to the altar. 

A few days later the anointed King touched nine 
hundred sick for the “ King’s Evil.” He turned pale, 
but endured the trial well. 

He rode into Paris on his state entry, a gallant little 
figure in scarlet, mounted on a white horse. Already 
his character made its impression. “ The King 
listens to everything, remembers everything, knows 
everything, and gives no sign of it.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 

S EVEN miserable years were to pass before 
Louis XIII gained strength to throw off his 
mother’s yoke. The relations between them are well 
expressed in the story of the young King entering 
a room where his mother was seated. She rose at 
his entrance, according to the demands of etiquette. 
“ I would be better pleased,” remarked the boy, “ with 
less obeisance and less whipping.” Every one laughed, 
and the Queen smiled “ rather uncomfortably.” It 
is said that during all the years of her regency the 
Queen never once kissed the little boy. 

There was a moment when the glory and greatness 
of his father’s reign seemed promised. Louis was 
gifted not only with intellect, but with noble im¬ 
pulses ; all was lost in the tyranny of his mother and 
the hopeless defects in his education. Brought up to 
a love of magnificence and display, and taught that 
indulgence in this was the duty of princes, the boy 
considered that all effort could end here, and that 
he was free to devote himself to hunting and hawking, 
and to the tame animals that formed one of his chief 
interests. This love of animals, which would to-day 
be thought an engaging characteristic, was considered 
by the serious chroniclers of that age almq^t a mental 

124 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 


125 


defect. They mournfully relate that the King loved 
his dogs, and spoke to them in a language of his own, 
and refer with melancholy contempt to his ostrich 
farm, his falcons, and his horses. A monkey was a 
calamity, and a yellow parrot almost a crime. 

The King’s doctor, Herouard, who faithfully kept 
a journal of all his doings, records that he was much 
interested in a marcassine (female wild pig), a strange 
pet, which a water-carrier named Bonnet had tamed 
and kept in one of the royal kitchens. It happened 
that Bonnet was killed by a fall. The little mar¬ 
cassine was inconsolable. All night she lay down 
lamenting, and went about searching for her dead 
master. With most unpig-like devotion she let her¬ 
self die of hunger, steadfastly refusing all food. The 
King wrote a little verse about her. 

“ II y avait en ma cuisine 
Une petite marcassine, 

Laquelle est morte de douleur 
D’avoir perdu son gouverneur.” 

The arid and limited education the child received 
was not calculated to develop the sympathies of his 
nature. A great deal might have been done through 
his affections, which in his early boyhood were warm 
and sincere. 

Louis felt very deeply the death of his little brother 
in 1611. This child is said to have been christened 
Nicolas, though the older chroniclers mention him only 
as ” N. de France,” the usual custom when writing of 
a child not publicly baptized. From his birth his 
chance of life was slender, and in that age of medical 
ignorance and superstition little could be done to 
relieve his condition. He was always at St. Germain. 


126 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


His brothers and sisters loved and petted him, and even 
the cold heart of his Medici mother softened to the 
suffering baby. With his enormous head and skeleton 
body he was dying all his life. He lived only four years. 

Just before his death Louis was in Paris, but was 
looking forward to joining his brothers and sisters 
at St. Germain. " My sisters will be very glad to see 
me shoot with the harquebus. Mamanga (Madame de 
Monglat) will ask M. de Souvr6 how he can allow me to 
shoot, and will go and say so to the Queen, my mother.” 
But by the time he reached St. Germain the little 
brother was desperately ill. He had convulsions, but, 
recovering consciousness, saw his brother the King 
beside him. " Good night, mon petit papa , you do 
me too much honour in taking the trouble to come and 
see me.” Louis left the room in tears, and passion¬ 
ately asked if there was no way of saving the child. 
He was advised to pray. Some one suggested a votive 
offering, to our Lady of Loretto, of a silver image 
the same height as Nicolas. " Send to Paris at once 
for it. Let them make haste,” said Louis, returning 
to his prayers. The King woke in the night and asked 
for news of his brother. The child had died at the 
very time. Just as he was passing away, he saw a 
vision of his father, murdered a year before, and it is 
easy to understand how the remembrance of the kindly 
gallant King, the “ Bon Papa ” who had made the one 
radiant spot in a clouded existence, with his unfailing 
tenderness, would rise to the imagination of the dying 
child. “ I will kiss him ever so much,” are his last 
recorded words. 

The little fellow had been betrothed at a year old 
to Mademoiselle de Montpensier, one of the greatest 
heiresses in France. After his death this little girl 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 


127 


was brought to visit Marie de’ Medici arrayed in 
a widow’s dress ! The Queen, however, decreed that 
weeds should not be worn, and promised MademoiselLe 
her next son Gaston as bridegroom. 

In 1611 we see all the remaining children together. 
Elisabeth was allowed to arrange a comedy, for the 
amusement of the Court at St. Germain. The play 
chosen was Gamier’s “ Bradamante.” The enter¬ 
tainment was highly successful. All the children 
acted. Christine, then five years old, was assigned 
a part in which she had to speak a few words, not 
because she could act, but in case she should 
cry. 

Gaston, aged three, spoke the Prologue, of six 
lines. 

“ He carried a pike, which he waved to the audience 
with such grace that by this action, and by the little 
leap which he executed at its conclusion, he drew to 
himself great applause.” The child was promoted 
to breeches for the occasion, a change of dress which 
was a source of great pride, but which so hampered 
his movements off the stage that he was put back 
into petticoats. 

Gaston was destined to play the role of next heir 
to the throne for no less than thirty years—a brilliant 
prospect shattered at last. 

Louis was eleven when his mother began to talk 
to him of marriage. 

“ My son, I wish to have you married. Do you 
wish it ? ” 

” Jele veux bien, Madame .” 

The boy was perfectly indifferent. He had not put 
away childish things. 

Falconry was his passion. H6rouard has left a 


128 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


description of his first day’s sport in the spring of 
1614. 

“ M. de Souvre makes the King go to the Hunt for 
the first time ; makes him take a hunting skirt lined 
with sable ; takes it reluctantly, saying that all those 
who see him will laugh at him, because he is dressed 
as a peasant. He disputes for ij hours. At last he 
makes up his mind and goes to fly his kite on the plain 
of Crenelle, where he mounts his horse and takes the 
kite. Having returned to the Louvre, has the kite 
thrown out of the window and gives it its life. The 
19th. Sunday. Feeds 2 little cocks, and gives them 
Claret to make them brave. 

“ The 30th. Easter Day. Goes to Mass at Bour¬ 
bon, returns to the Grand Gallery of the Louvre; 
touches 450 ill people, the chief doctor, Herouard, 
holding their heads ; goes to the Sermon at the Car¬ 
melites and to Vespers at St. Victor. In the evening, 
before going to bed, plays with hens till half-past 9, 
prays to God, goes to sleep till five hours after mid¬ 
night. The 31st. Monday morning. Goes by the 
gallery to the Tuileries, a stone-falcon (or merlin) 
on his fist, which he makes fly; to the Capuchins for 
Mass. In the evening goes to bed till 9.30, gets up to 
see opposite, beyond the Seine, the stable of Queen 
Marguerite, which was burning before her house; 
sends to visit her a gentleman named the Sieur de la 
Passe ; at quarter to eleven, back to bed. 

“ The 8. Tuesday, at 8 o’clock, enters his 
carriage and arrives at Angenere at 10.30. After 
dinner goes to shoot with his harquebus at the little 
birds in the garden. M. le Souvre takes him to play 
cards in a barn. He gets bored. He does not like 
inactive games. Goes away to milk the cows.” 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 


129 


At this time, Charles (TAlbert, Seigneur de Luynes, 
had the charge of the King’s falcons. He was a man 
of thirty-five, and Louis grew to look upon him as his 
greatest friend and most trusted adviser. A fine 
sportsman, with an attractive personality, he won 
from the impressionable boy a warm affection. His 
companionship gave the King a great deal of happiness. 
The Queen-Mother and her Italian advisers, Concini 
and his wife Leonora, hated and feared his influence, 
but recognized that he was a power to be conciliated. 

Louis XIII came of age in September 1614. The 
States General were convened in Paris, at the Convent 
of the Augustine. The Queen and her son were there, 
Louis morose, and dressed in white, also “cette delicate 
et fragile Elisabeth, fiancee au roi d'Espagne, lumineuse 
dans sa robe de Toile d’argent .” Among the clergy 
assembled at this historic gathering was a young 
man who was eventually to rule France, Armand Jean 
du Plessis de Richelieu. He was twenty-nine, and 
had been made Bishop of Lu^on at the age of twenty- 
two. At this State meeting two royal marriages 
were arranged. The bride of Louis was to be the 
little Infanta of Spain, known to history as Anne of 
Austria, and Elisabeth of France was to marry Anne’s 
brother, Philip IV of Spain. 

In August 1615 the royal wedding party set forth 
from Paris to Bordeaux. An army went with them, 
and a train of followers of all descriptions, many of 
them undesirable travellers, who " filled the hospitals 
and the taverns on the way ” with a variety of diseases. 
Queen Marie herself, with the bride Elisabeth, took 
smallpox at Poitiers. The disease must have been 
of a mild type, for the Court only remained there 
from 14 to 28 September. After a journey of six 
9 


130 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


weeks, Bordeaux was reached, and the marriages were 
celebrated by proxy. With one of his rare flashes of 
mischief, Louis jogged the elbow of his sister as she 
was signing the contract. 

The party then proceeded to the Bidassoa River, 
where the exchange of Princesses was to be made. 

The Princess Elisabeth was a simple, gentle child, 
but she was capable of a good deal of spirit. At the 
age of ten she had a separate Court, “ in the midst of 
which,” says a Spanish Ambassador, “ she received, 
with the grace of a girl and the premature dignity of a 
queen, the elaborate homage of her future subjects.” 

The parting between Louis and his sister was 
moving in the extreme. The poor children could not 
conceal their emotion. Every one wept, except the 
Spanish Ambassador, who was shocked at such want 
of self-control in royal persons. He recalled Elisabeth 
to a sense of duty. 

“ Come, come, Princess of Spain.” So under his 
cold eye the brother and sister parted for ever. 

The punctilious regulations of Spanish etiquette, 
observed with more than religious solemnity, were 
extremely trying to the patience of the young French 
girl, fresh from the less rigid customs of her own Court. 
Sumptuous pavilions were erected on either side of the 
river, and another was built on boats moored in the 
middle of the stream, where the actual exchange was 
to be made. There were endless and interminable 
delays while every point of tradition and precedent 
was weighed and discussed. The boredom was 
unendurable to Elisabeth, who, having reached the 
limit of her patience, in a sudden outburst makes it 
clear that the centre of all the tiresome magnificence 
was just a little angry child of thirteen. On hearing 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 


131 


of yet another delay, she became red with temper, 
took off her gloves, and flung them in the fire, demand¬ 
ing to know when the ceremonies would be finished. 
There is a sense of relief in knowing that Elisabeth 
burnt her gloves, though they were doubtless jewelled 
and costly affairs, for she stands out in history at once 
with the passion and reality of a human being. 

Elisabeth, unlike the black-haired Elisabeth de 
Valois, is described as a handsome girl, with very fair 
hair and large, expressive dark eyes. The dress of the 
period could not have enhanced her beauty. Fashion 
was marked by monstrous caprices. Women rode on 
horseback with dresses reaching only to the knee, 
and the legs encased in light velvet pantaloons. In 
ordinary dress huge vasquines, or rollers, encircled the 
waist and extended the folds of the petticoat. Braces 
of metal expanded the sleeves. There were bows of 
ribbon all over the person, each with a coquettish name: 
the galant on the top of the head, the mignon on the 
heart, the favori on the breast, and the badin on the 
handle of the fan. The affiquet of precious stones worn 
on the left breast was the assassin. In some such 
guise the Princess Elisabeth must have set forth to 
meet her unknown bridegroom at Burgos. The boy 
of eleven was speechless with admiration or with 
shyness. She entered the city riding on a white horse 
with a silver saddle and housings of velvet and 
pearls. 

The Spanish Princess, blue-eyed and fair-haired, wore 
a robe of green satin, gold embroidered, with wide 
hanging sleeves looped with diamonds. A small ruff 
of Flemish lace was round the neck, her light hair fell 
in curls, and she wore a small hat of green satin 
trimmed with strings of pearls, and surmounted by a 


132 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


heron’s plume. An enormous pannier spoilt the grace 
of her childish figure. 

The two girls met in the lie des Faisans, and gave 
the kiss of ceremony. Then Anne passed on to seek 
her fortunes in her new kingdom of France, and 
Elisabeth was delivered to Spain. 

Louis XIII and the Infanta were married at Bor¬ 
deaux. The children were of the same age. “The 
King often looked at the Queen and smiled ; she, 
although sinking under the weight of her robes and 
jewels, perspiring big drops, could not help smiling 
at him with marvellous grace and majesty.’’ 

The pair entered Paris 16 May, 1616. The King 
was on horseback, and his bride in a litter so orna¬ 
mented that nothing could be seen but precious stones 
and embroidery. The King by this time was very 
much bored with the whole affair. No one could 
induce him to take an interest in the little Spanish 
girl who could not share his pleasures of hunting and 
hawking. Four years passed before they began life 
together as husband and wife. 

Louis hated the Concini, but in his minority had 
been powerless to prevent the flood of honours his 
mother had poured upon these adventurers. The 
husband was created Marquis d’Ancre and was made 
a Marshal of France. Leonora controlled all the inner 
affairs of the Court. Both became enormously rich, 
and were thoroughly hated both by the people and 
the nobles. 

The young King, guided by de Luynes, resolved to 
rid himself of these intruders. While they remained in 
power there would never be peace between the Govern¬ 
ment and the people, or between the Huguenots and the 
Catholics. It is not known that the young King had 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 


133 


actually resolved on their destruction. It is certain 
that he gave the orders for the arrest of Concini in 
such a manner that the Captain of his Guard, giving a 
decided interpretation of his meaning, shot him dead. 
“ Sire,” said de Luynes, “ from this time you are really 
King of France.” Louis had all his people on his side. 
Savage joy was shown in Paris and throughout the 
country at the death of Concini. His wife Leonora 
must have known that her hour also had come. A 
few weeks later she was arrested and beheaded on 
a charge of witchcraft. 

The whole life of Marie de’ Medici was bound up in 
the Concini, but she could not save them. Their fall 
meant her own disgrace, and a little pity must be felt 
for her when she was ordered to leave the Court and 
retire to the Castle of Blois. 

The King’s resolution was definitely expressed for a 
youth of sixteen, but he was at last sure of his ground. 

“ Madame, I have come here to say good-bye and 
to assure you that I shall always care for you as my 
mother. I have wished to relieve you of the trouble 
you take in my affairs ; it is time that you should 
rest, and that I should manage them. This is my 
resolution, not to suffer any one else to take command 
in my kingdom. At this moment I am the King. 
I have given the necessary orders for your journey 
and ordered the priest to accompany you. You will 
have news of me when you reach Blois. Adieu, 
Madame. Love me, and I shall be a good son to you.” 

Her fall caused temporary eclipse to the star of 
Richelieu. But Richelieu knew when to suffer 
eclipse. Meanwhile, he was exiled from the Court to 
Avignon. 

Bitterly weeping, Marie de’ Medici took leave of her 


134 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


children, Christine, now eleven years old, and the little 
Gaston and Henriette, who were both too young to 
understand the meaning of so sorrowful a parting. 
Not that Marie cared for her children, but to be de¬ 
prived of their charge marked the extreme depth of 
her disgrace. She had quite clearly plotted with the 
Concini against the King, but the sight of her sufferings 
as Queen and mother moved the nation to murmurs 
of compassion. Her exile lasted three years, and 
during that time Louis, without a word to his mother, 
arranged and carried out the marriage of his sister 
Christine to Victor Amadeus, Prince of Piedmont. 
Marie did not submit tamely to such an indignity. 

It was Richelieu who brought about peace and 
secured the reconciliation of Marie with her son. 
They met at the Castle of Couzieres, near Tours. 

“ My son has grown taller since I saw him,” was the 
mother’s natural comment. 

“ I have grown, Madame, for your service,” was the 
King’s courtly reply. There were kisses and a great 
many tears over their temporary reconciliation. 

Gaston and Henriette were now the only royal 
children left at Court. The days were chiefly passed 
at St. Germain with Madame de Monglat. Gaston, 
whose character was slight and disloyal, was to live 
to be a scourge to his brother the King. Like the 
King he had, in boyhood, no leanings whatever to 
study, hated books, and could not be induced to apply 
his mind to any serious pursuit. He had a taste for 
magnificence and profusion, but no real love of art. 
Henriette was always a fascinating creature, bright 
of eye and wit. That she was wayward and spoilt 
was owing to her mother’s injudicious training. She 
who lived to be known as “La Reine Malheur euse ” 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 


135 


was once the light and spirit of her world. Moreover, 
unlike her brothers and sisters, she was passionately 
attached to her mother. In appearance she was 
always petite, with a long face, a fine brow, perfect 
complexion, and eyes dark, soft, and brilliant. In 
spite of her few inches she had a dignified carriage : 
“ dans toute sa personne quelque chose de noble et de 
grand." 

Henriette writes a little letter to Madame de 
Monglat. 

“ Mamangat, —I beg you to forgive me if you saw 
the little temper I was in this morning. 

" I cannot be good all of a sudden, but I shall do 
everything I can to please you. In the meantime, I 
beg you not to be angry with me any more, who am 
and will always be all my life, Mamangat —Your 
affectionate friend, Henriette ” 

Few details survive of the education of the Bourbon 
children. They certainly received nothing like the 
training of their Valois predecessors, and the routine 
of nursery and schoolroom was perpetually interrupted 
by some State function or other, in which the children 
must bear a part. It is certain, however, that Henriette 
must have spent a good deal of time in dancing. The 
Court ballets were numerous and intricate in their 
figures, and Henriette was always among the most 
graceful of the dancers. She had a beautiful voice, 
and the love of music that was a family characteristic 
in all the children of Marie de’ Medici. 

It was while Henriette was dancing that she was first 
seen by the young English prince with whom her 
destiny was to be linked. 


136 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


In 1623, Charles, Prince of Wales, was in Paris with 
the Duke of Buckingham, in the course of his romantic 
journey to see his proposed bride, the Infanta Maria of 
Spain. The pair travelled in disguise under the names 
of Tom Smith and John Brown. James I of England 
was much opposed to his beloved son undertaking 
a journey which might prove hazardous. He wrote a 
series of quaint letters in which he calls the Prince 
of Wales “ Baby Charles ” and gives Buckingham the 
nickname “ Dog Steenie.” Casual travellers must 
have had easy access to the French Court, for Charles 
and his companion saw the rehearsal of a ballet, in 
which the young Queen Anne and her little sister-in- 
law Henriette and the boy Gaston danced. Charles 
passed on to Spain without specially noticing the little 
girl of thirteen whom he was not to see again till he 
met her at Dover as his wife. His thoughts were set 
on the unknown Infanta. He saw her, and spent some 
time in Spain, but the negotiations for the marriage 
fell through. The Infanta herself was opposed to 
marrying a heretic, and was given no opportunity of 
really knowing Charles. 

It was in Spain, however, that the idea of a French 
marriage was put into the head of the English Prince 
by the Queen herself, the little Elisabeth de Bourbon. 
Her interviews were much restricted, as she was 
ceaselessly guarded by the Spaniards. But she 
managed to speak a few words in French, a forbidden 
language at Court, in which she warned him that the 
match with the Infanta would be broken, and suggested 
that it would be politic to marry her own sister, 
Henriette de France. 

The French marriage followed, after a world of 
opposition and argument in which all the powers of 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 


137 


Europe seem to have joined. In the April of 1625, 
James I of England died, and in the May following 
the little Henriette Marie was made Queen of England. 
She w T as fifteen years old. 

The marriage was celebrated on 11 May at Notre- 
Dame, which was hung with marvellous tapestries. 
The due de Chevreuse, dressed in mourning relieved 
with diamonds, stood proxy for King Charles I. The 
bride’s robe was of cloth of gold and silver, embroidered 
with the lilies of France, and showered with diamonds 
and other gems. The actual marriage took place on 
a raised platform outside the Cathedral, for Henriette 
was marrying a Protestant. 

The bride did not leave France till 23 June. She 
arrived at Dover at seven in the evening. Charles 
was at Canterbury, and came to Dover Castle next 
morning, when the married pair were introduced to 
each other. Poor little Henriette was greatly over¬ 
come. She could not finish the little set speech she 
had learned for the occasion : “ Sire, je suis venue en 
ce pays de votre Majeste pour etre commande de vous." 
Tears stopped the rest. But the chivalrous heart of 
Charles went out to this frightened child; he put his 
arms round her and kissed her. Soon they were talking 
gaily. He found his bride taller than he had been led 
to expect. He looked at her shoes to see if she wore 
high heels. She said, “ Sire, I stand upon mine own 
feet. I have no help from art. Thus high am I; 
neither higher nor lower.” 

The childhood of Henriette was passed. She in¬ 
spired in her husband a true, tender, lasting passion. 
For ten years she knew a personal happiness as wife 
and mother. Born under a tragic star, her few years 
of happiness were followed by a flood of every kind of 


138 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


sorrow. She was fated to endure the stress of the 
Great Rebellion, and to see all that was most sacred 
to her go down before a nation’s anger and revolt. 
She shared all but the last climax of her husband’s 
misfortunes. 

Nineteen years after the wedding, a broken, despair¬ 
ing woman, she came back to France, “ La Reine 
Malheureuse," there to live out the last dark days of 
her life. 

So passes away the first Bourbon generation of the 
Children of France. 

There were now no children at Court. Silence fell 
on the royal nurseries—a heavy silence not to be lifted 
for many a day. Louis XIII and Anne of Austria 
were childless. 

Domestic affairs at Court did not run smoothly. 
Louis was miserable in his relations both to his mother 
and his wife. He had never loved either the one or 
the other. 

The marriage of Gaston, who was now eighteen, was 
a necessary step in the interests of the realm. The 
project threw the royal family and the courtiers into 
opposite camps. Marie de’ Medici had from his 
babyhood promised her favourite child Gaston the 
richest heiress in France, Marie de Bourbon, duchesse 
de Montpensier. She now wished the plan carried 
into effect, and she had the support of Richelieu. The 
poor, childless Queen, Anne of Austria, opposed the 
idea, not from any reasonable objection, but because of 
a natural and very human shrinking from the nearer 
vision of an heir of France who would be no child 
of hers. In his own way the King shared this feeling. 
The upshot of it all was that the marriage went forward, 
and was celebrated at Nantes at midnight, with very 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XIII 


139 


little royal pomp, on 5 August, 1626. The bride was 
short, plain, slightly deformed, with a dull expression 
and slow of understanding. The pair took up their 
residence in the Tuileries. The King and Queen, in 
the Louvre, soon had the mortification of knowing that 
a child was to be born to Gaston. The whole nation 
breathlessly awaited the birth of a prince. 

On 29 May, 1627, the child was born; not an heir 
to France, but a little girl, who in later days was to 
make her mark in history as La Grande Mademoiselle. 
Three days after her birth the mother died. 

Anne of Austria, in her relief that the child was not 
a boy, showed the little Marie Louise a great deal 
of kindness. She represented the only child life at 
the Court, a gloomy place in those days, and no doubt 
as she grew older Marie Louise would give a good deal 
of amusement to grown-up people, for she was a talker, 
and very early learnt the importance of her father’s 
position in the country. Gaston played with his 
daughter, but cared nothing for her training. Her life 
was one round of amusement, and no one troubled 
about her education. She was a stout child, with a 
fat face and an air of stupidity. Critics described her 
as an unpleasant little girl, who, as she grew older, 
became so intolerable to every one that, at nine years 
old, she was sent to a convent for a few months. It 
may be doubted whether the religious life had any 
lasting effect upon her character, but the experiment 
relieved the Queen and the Court for a while from a 
great deal of pertinacious comment and a world of 
embarrassing questions. 


CHAPTER IX 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 
HE year 1638 brought a momentous change to 



JL Louis XIII and his wife. An event happened 
which overset all the calculations and pretensions of 
Gaston and the Princes of the Blood. On 5 October, at 
St. Germain, a Dauphin was born, the child who, as 
Louis XIV, was to reap all the glories sown by Riche¬ 
lieu. The parents had been married for twenty- 
three years without a child, and were almost dazed at 
this happiness, which was the first they had ever shared. 
There was very little enthusiasm at Court, where 
many who had cherished hopes of presumptive 
honours suddenly found themselves of no account, 
but throughout the country there was sincere rejoicing. 
Two years after the birth of Louis, on 21 September, 
1640, was born his brother Philippe. 1 

La Grande Mademoiselle was eleven when her 
father, Gaston d’Orleans, thus ceased to be heir of the 
throne of France. With all her precocious knowledge 

1 From Philippe (who received the title of due d’Orleans after the 
death of Gaston) were descended the Orleans branch of the royal 
family, and the later generations of the Bourbons. At Court the 
King's brother bore the title of “ Monsieur ” He married first, in 
1661, Henrietta, daughter of Charles I of England, and second, 
Charlotte Elizabeth, daughter of the Elector Palatine. He died at 
St. Cloud, 1701. 


140 



THE DAUPHIN (LOUIS Xiv) WITH HIS NURSE 

From a painting at Versailles 

















' 
















. 














. • 


. 




















CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


141 


of the world, Mademoiselle still retained enough of the 
uncalculating charm of childhood to be genuinely 
pleased at the baby’s arrival. She went to St. Ger¬ 
main to see the new cousin. The Queen was delighted 
and touched by her real pleasure in the baby. To 
please the child, she said, “ Vous serez ma belle-fille .” 
It was an unfortunate remark for the girl’s happiness, 
setting alight an ambition which was only quenched in 
the future with a great deal of suffering. She con¬ 
tinued to visit the baby every day, and called him 
“Mon petit mari ,” to the amusement of the King and 
Queen. Unluckily for Mademoiselle, her godfather 
Richelieu got wind of the little comedy. He was ex¬ 
tremely displeased, ordered her removal from St. 
Germain to Paris, and, sending for the little girl, ad¬ 
ministered a reprimand, telling her she was too old for 
such jokes. Her pride must have resented the inter¬ 
ference, but she was obliged to obey his rule that in 
future she should only go to St. Germain from the 
Tuileries once in two months. 

The sombre Louis XIII could take little pleasure in 
his sons. Suspicion of his wife’s actions found food 
in the children’s very earliest training. The Dauphin 
once shrieked with fright at the sight of his 
father in a nightcap. The King wore one of the 
extinguisher variety, which doubtless made an awe¬ 
inspiring change in his appearance to the imagination 
of a small child. Louis was deeply offended and hurt 
at his son’s protesting yells. He was quite sure 
that the Queen was bringing up the children to fear 
and hate him. Brooding darkly over the idea, he 
threatened to take both the boys from their mother’s 
care. 

That the King’s thoughts were habitually suspicious 


142 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


is not surprising. Since the time of his boyhood, when 
his own mother intrigued against his interests, never a 
year passed without some plot against his life. All his 
friends, except Richelieu, seemed capable of treachery. 

He was not fated to see the children he had so 
greatly desired and so eagerly welcomed grow beyond 
babyhood. The ill-health which had pursued him all 
his days settled at last into a definite decline. The two 
little boys could never remember their father except 
as a sombre and morose invalid. In the midst of his 
sufferings he was to endure the misfortune of losing 
the comfort and support of his great minister Richelieu, 
who died in 1642. He survived him only five months. 

The King’s illness was a lingering one. Minute 
details of each day were written by his faithful valet 
Dubois. Sometimes, when feeling a little better, he 
would get up from his bed to paint caricatures, a 
favourite amusement, or he would have quartettes 
sung in his room. He had a long chair made in which 
he could recline, and one day he asked his attendants 
to open the window and move him so that he could 
look out and see his last resting-place. The towers of 
St. Denis 1 were plainly visible from the new chateau of 
St. Germain, now demolished. Little could be known 
of what suspicions or remorses were passing in the 
dark labyrinth of his mind, but it is certain that he 
had no fear of death. 

At his wish the baptism of the Dauphin was celebrated 
on 22 April, 1643, in the old chapel of the chateau. 

“ M. le Dauphin looked as beautiful and as innocent 
as an angel, kneeling with folded hands, his eyes wide 

1 This view of St. Denis annoyed Louis XIV so much that he 
never liked St. Germain. The prospect of the royal tombs formed 
one of his chief reasons for building Versailles. 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


143 


open, but showing a shyness and modesty surprising 
for a child of his tender years.” 

After the ceremony the little boy, wearing an over¬ 
coat of cloth of silver, was brought in with his brother 
to the sick-room to see the King. Nearly all historians 
repeat the story that the King asked what name had 
been given him in baptism, and that the child answered, 
“ Louis XIV.” “ Pas encore, mon fils, pas encore ,” 
said the dying man. 

Two days later both the children are seen again. 
The King was much worse, and the Queen was sent for 
from the old chateau to the new to come at once with 
the little boys to receive his dying benediction. An 
excited crowd surrounded the palace. Inside there 
was a great deal of confusion. The Queen could 
scarcely make her way to the King’s room. The 
duchesse de Vendome carried the baby Philippe, 
crying desperately for his nurse, who had been lost 
in the throng. The child was taken into the King’s 
dressing-room, and told that the King had a little gold 
horse to give to the Dauphin, and that Philippe would 
get one if he behaved better than his brother. At this 
dazzling prospect he ceased to cry, and soon was 
restored to his nurse. Louis gave the benediction; 
but the end had not yet come. He rallied, and 
again asked for music—his one solace. It was thought 
necessary to let the little Princes know that their 
father was dying. They were taken into his room as 
he lay in a trance-like sleep, and told that they must 
never forget the sight. Then the Dauphin was asked, 
“ Would you like to be King ? ” “No,” was the 

child’s sensible reply. “ But if your papa died ? ” 
“ If my papa died, I should throw myself into the 
moat.” Nothing was spared to the feelings of these 


144 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


poor children. The governess said he had made the 
same reply four times. 

Louis XIII died on 14 May, 1643, not surrounded to 
the last by his wife and children and his other relatives, 
for the invariable custom at the death of a King of 
France was that all those bound to him by blood left, 
not only his bedside and his room, but the castle itself. 
The nearness of a royal death was always proclaimed 
by the number of coaches that drove hurriedly away 
from the doors, bearing freights of those whose most 
sacred duty, according to other ideas, would be to 
remain with the dying. The origin of this heartless 
custom is now lost, but the rule was rigidly kept till 
the end of the Bourbon dynasty. 

The new King, Louis XIV, was four years and eight 
months old. 

A very handsome child, already sovereign in his 
instincts and his personality, he stood with his brother 
on the balcony at St. Germain and was greeted with 
acclaim by the huge crowds gathered below. After¬ 
wards he signed his first State paper, his little fingers 
guided by his mother. 

Next day the two children made their formal entry 
into Paris, the centre of an adoring populace. The 
Queen was dressed in black velvet, and carried the 
King on her knee, while Philippe slept through the 
affair in the arms of Madame de Lausac. An immense 
military cavalcade surrounded the royal coach. 

The Parliament, which was summoned to endorse 
the Regency of Anne of Austria, and to extend her 
powers, met on 19 May. The little King, placed upon 
the throne in his violet mantle, was seized with a fit 
of shyness, and, turning his back on the scarlet-robed 
assembly, hid his face among the velvet cushions. 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


145 


Then recovering himself immediately, he turned, and 
facing the throng made his appointed speech : “ Mes¬ 
sieurs ! I am come here to assure you of my affection. 
My Chancellor will inform you of my will.” 

The Parliament at this meeting bestowed absolute 
power on the Queen as Regent. The proceedings 
lasted a long time. The little King was nearly asleep 
before the end. 

The first use Anne made of her authority was to 
offer Cardinal Mazarin the position of first minister. 
He became thenceforward the real ruler of France. 

His policy was to maintain the despotic power of 
the Crown which the labours of Richelieu had firmly 
established. The Spanish Anne understood no other 
government. Now, supported by Mazarin, she grasped 
the sceptre of France with surprising vigour. 

Together they fought out the battle against a world 
of prejudice. The Court swarmed with Frenchmen 
who desired to become the successors of Richelieu. 
In the face of it all, the Spanish woman, and her 
Italian servant, kept their firm rule over France for 
eighteen years. 

On the advice of Mazarin the Queen ceased to hold 
court at the Louvre, and moved to the Palais Cardinal 1 
which Richelieu had bequeathed to the Crown. All 
the fine furniture and pictures were transferred from 
the Louvre, io December, 1643. On Mazarin’s sugges¬ 
tion he was accorded quarters there, and thence¬ 
forward he and the Queen must be regarded as husband 
and wife. 

The household of the little Princes was organized on 
a magnificent scale. Love of pomp and ceremony, 
and love of war, were diligently fostered. A group of 

1 Now the Palais Royal. 


IO 


146 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


boys, enfants d’honneur, subject to strict military 
discipline, were drilled by the little King every day. 
Up and down the long galleries of the palaces the boys 
marched. They cared for nothing but the army and 
the news of war. 

“ The King’s amusements were all warlike,” writes 
one of his enfants d'honneur : “as soon as his little 
hands could grasp a stick, the Queen had a large drum 
prepared, like that of the Cent Suisses , upon which he 
beat continually. I often made the King presents, 
such as small guns, swords, and little cannon made of 
brass, which he received most graciously.” 

One of the boys asked Louis to lend him his crossbow. 
This weapon had been made by Louis XIII, and was 
one of his son’s chief treasures ; he used it often to 
try to shoot sparrows in the garden of the Tuileries. 
He was willing to lend it, but his governess, Madame 
de Senece, interposed. “ Sire, Kings make gifts, but 
they never lend.” With a kingly air, the little boy 
handed his companion the bow. “ Sir, I wish it was 
a thing of greater value; but such as it is, I give it 
to you.” 

Very early in life Louis loved to be in the saddle. 
The people of Paris worshipped the fair-faced child, 
as, in gallant array, he rode about the city. To the 
populace, he had been from his infancy known as 
Dieudonne. 

At eight years old, he was removed from the care 
of Madame de Sendee and placed under governors and 
tutors. Ever since his birth his mother had talked 
a great deal about his education. She herself never 
opened a book. Mazarin undertook to superintend the 
King’s studies, and beyond making this appointment 
Anne took no further thought in the matter. The 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


147 


boy was taught nothing. At nine the King had a 
severe attack of smallpox. Every woman who had 
beauty to preserve, and all those who had never had 
smallpox, fled in a body from the Palais Royal. The 
King’s death was hourly expected, and indeed his re¬ 
covery seems to have been almost miraculous, in view 
of the doctors’ attentions. They bled His Majesty four 
times in twenty-four hours. The Queen, in an agony 
of grief and fear, attended her son herself. After 
the crisis he made a rapid recovery. In his first con¬ 
valescence he asked to see his white English pony— 
a birthday present from Mazarin, who now himself 
led the animal to the boy’s bedside, where it was 
received and caressed with delight. 

The King’s brother, Philippe, was a child of a 
totally different character. It seemed the policy of 
his mother to bring him up in all respects differently 
from Louis. His childish effeminate mind, love of 
fantastic dress, and general irresponsibility, were not 
only tolerated but encouraged. He was dressed in 
petticoats long after babyhood, brought up to play 
with dolls like a girl, and indulged in every kind of 
vanity. The details of dress and of Court ceremony 
formed his chief interest all through life. 

A certain beauty of feature, of which he was in¬ 
ordinately vain, was ill-matched with a very small 
round body. He was always known as “ Little 
Monsieur.” Madame de Motteville tells one story 
about Philippe which throws light upon the curious 
ways in which illness was treated, when the victim 
happened to be a prince. The boy was seized with an 
attack of dysentery in the summer of 1647. He was 
dangerously ill. Anne of Austria, a devoted but 
always nervous mother, was with the child. A large 


148 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


number of people, all the chief figures of the Court, 
were gathered in his room. With some instinct of 
self-preservation, the invalid begged his mother to 
send every one away, as he wanted to be alone with 
her. The Queen replied that she dared not have the 
room cleared, as Madame La Princesse (the second 
wife of Gaston d’Orleans) was there, with others who 
had the right to be present. In fact, the boy’s happi¬ 
ness and health were to be sacrificed to an absurd 
regulation of etiquette. The advice he gave showed 
strong common sense in a child of seven. “Eh ! bon 
DieUy Madame , moquez-vous de cela ! Are you not 
mistress ? What is the use of your crown, if it 
is not to do as you like ? You think nothing of send¬ 
ing me away, when you please, —I, who am your son : 
should not every one have his turn ? ” The Queen 
said to Madame de Motteville : “ We must satisfy him, 
—but it cannot be according to his way, for I shall 
have to leave myself in order to take away those who 
are annoying him.” So she left the child’s room, taking 
with her Madame La Princesse and other unwelcome 
visitors. 

In 1647, when Louis the King was nine years old 
and his brother seven, a new group of playmates came 
to Court. The Cardinal Mazarin meant to make use 
of his splendid position to help those of his blood and 
name. He had two sisters, Madame Mancini, who had 
eight children, and Madame Martinozzi, who had 
two daughters. Mazarin sent to Italy for two of the 
Mancini girls and their brother, and for the eldest 
Martinozzi daughter. These children arrived in Paris 
in September 1647, an d were once taken to the 
Queen, who received them with a great deal of kindness. 
They appeared at the Queen’s afternoon Court next 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


149 


day. Soon the pretty high-spirited girls became the 
life and soul of their circle. To Louis and his brother 
the coming of this new element of childhood into the 
Court life meant a great deal of increased fun and 
excitement. Later, the young King suffered much 
unhappiness in his hopeless passion for Marie Mancini. 

In 1644, Queen Henrietta Maria of England, chased 
from her husband’s kingdom, a broken and miserable 
figure, fled back to France. 

The Queen Regent, with her two little boys, came 
in their great State coach to meet and welcome her 
outside Paris, and together they all drove to the 
Louvre, where she was installed in apartments chosen 
by the Queen Regent. For her country residence, 
she was given the old chateau of St. Germain. She 
was in dire poverty, a pensioner dependent on the 
charity of her relations. All France sympathized with 
the despairing woman, bereft of husband and children, 
who came back, so pitifully broken in health and 
fortune, to the country of her girlhood. 

Two years later Henrietta Maria had the happiness 
of receiving from England the little baby girl who had 
been born to her at Exeter, a fortnight before the 
flight to France. The little Henriette was too small 
an object to interest her two first cousins, Louis and 
Philippe. After a few years had passed, however, she 
was to play a great part in the comedy and tragedy 
of the Court of Louis XIV. 

The joint reign of Anne of Austria and Mazarin was 
full of great results for France. The military genius 
of the Great Conde had made the arms of France the 
most feared in all the councils of Europe. Mazarin, 
however, was intensely unpopular. He was forced to 
get money for the war, and it could only come from the 


150 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


people, who were desperately poor. Anne did what 
Mazarin directed, and was involved in the general 
hatred. All hopes were fixed upon Louis. The mass 
of the people believed that when he attained his 
majority there would be some change for the better. 

In Paris a pamphlet was printed and circulated 
which purported to be a conversation between the 
boy, Louis XIV, and his mother. It summed up 
the popular idea of the situation at the Palais Royal, 
in a series of questions and replies, of which the follow¬ 
ing are a sample :— 

“ Ma bonne Maman, why did you take the Regency 
when my father forbade it on his death-bed ? ” 

" Mon fils, to be the Mistress of all France, under 
your authority.” 

“ Ma bonne Maman, why do you employ the 
Cardinal Mazarin rather than any other ? ” 

“ Mon fils, because I love him, and because he does 
all that I wish.” 

“ Ma bonne Maman, why are so many comedies 
played at my Palais Royal at Paris, at such great 
expense ? ” 

“ Mon fils, it is done by the Cardinal Mazarin to 
please me, and to make every one believe that Italians 
make better actors than Frenchmen.” 1 

“ Ma bonne Maman, why is peace not made ? ” 

“ Mon fils, it is because the Cardinal Mazarin does 
not think it wise, for he says that in peace he would not 
be so respected or honoured.” 

“ Ma bonne Maman , tell me, who is Cardinal Mazarin, 
that he does as he pleases with my kingdom ? ” 

1 From the year 1646 Mazarin established the Italian opera in 
Paris. The idea originated in Florence. 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


151 


“ Mon fils, he is your governor, the first Minister of 
your State; is not that enough to permit him to do 
as he likes with your kingdom ? ” 

“ Ma bonne Maman, what have you done with the 
five hundred millions which you have received since 
my father’s death ? ” 

“Mon fils, they have been distributed by the order 
of Cardinal Mazarin, who has put them aside.” 

“ Ma bonne Maman, why, when you have received 
so much money, has no one paid the wages of my 
officers and soldiers for three years ? ” 

“ Mon fils, Cardinal Mazarin is keeping it all for a 
time of necessity, and to marry his nieces, like Cardinal 
Richelieu.” 

Under the Queen’s regime the Court had put on 
some of the old glories, which had been almost for¬ 
gotten in the sombre days of Louis XIII. The balls, 
fetes, masks and comedies, of which the Palais 
Royal was the centre, seem rather to be revivals than 
the result of new ideas. Though the social life of 
Europe had in a hundred years moved forward to a 
remarkable extent, in the Court of France we see the 
same kind of life, the same amusements, the same 
occupations still in vogue. The Court was still enter¬ 
tained by fools and jesters and dwarfs. Louis XIV 
as a child had two acrobats, who would have delighted 
the mind of Charles IX. The ordinary comforts of 
life were little more understood than they had been 
a century earlier. It had not yet occurred to Kings 
that their palaces might all be furnished. Every¬ 
thing, even the King’s bed, had to be carried from one 
palace to another when he moved. Guest-chambers 
stood empty, and must be furnished by the guest. 


152 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


At meals there was sometimes a profusion of food 
very badly served. On other occasions there was 
not enough. Madame de Motteville gives a descrip¬ 
tion of the way the Court ladies fared. 

“ According to the law of etiquette, the Queen 
supped in solitary state. Her supper ended, we ate 
what was left off the same plates. We ate without 
order or measure, in any way we could. Our only 
table-service was her wash-cloth, and the remnants 
of her bread.” An early breakfast was served at 
8.30, and dinner was sometimes as early as 10.30, 
though the time for this was gradually altered till a 
later hour. The gotlter was an afternoon meal. A 
“ collation ” was a kind of extra meal, offered on 
ceremonial occasions. Three-pronged forks were 
invented, but did not always supplant fingers at Court. 

Household finances were so badly arranged that, 
although vast expenditure was being incurred in all 
directions, the table of the little King himself was 
often ill supplied. He once complained that Mazarin 
had more little fishes on his table than he had. 

The simplest rules of sanitation had not yet been 
learned. The dirt of the royal palaces, the sights and 
smells of the stairs and passages, cannot be described, 
and imagination refuses to picture the conditions of 
lesser houses. The streets of Paris were deep in 
poisonous mud. Personal cleanliness was almost 
unknown. In a highly flattering description of the 
Queen Regent, it is mentioned to her credit that she 
was clean. She certainly had a bathroom next her 
bedroom at Fontainebleau. Louis XIII had his first 
bath when he was seven years old. He objected 
to washing as an effeminate habit, “ Je ne suis pas 
damoiseau,” he said, and no great advance had been 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


153 


made in the habits of his sons. The use of cold water 
was considered dangerous. Henri II, Prince de Conde, 
had to be told by Richelieu that he must wash 
himself and change his shoes before visiting the King. 
When he put on clean linen it caused “ great talk ” at 
Court. 

The most beautiful and sumptuous dresses, both of 
men and women, covered neglected bodies. Dainty 
habits were not understood. The attendants of La 
Grande Mademoiselle took three days to arrange her 
hair for a ball at the Palais Royal. The elaborate 
structure would then be left so arranged for an 
unspecified period. Another time she neglected her 
hair till it was “ so long and dusty ” that her friends 
did not recognize her. 

In education there was much that seems to belong 
to the Middle Ages rather than to the seventeenth 
century. Men of birth and breeding were still found 
proud of ignorance, like the ancient knights, who 
thought a man could not be a soldier if he could read 
and write. Half-grown boys were taken from school 
or their tutors, and launched in life with all a man’s 
responsibilities. It was, of course, an age of brilliant 
scholars, but Mazarin himself, in charge of the King’s 
education, did not encourage a love of learning or try 
to make the boy work, and at fourteen he allowed him 
to pass his days in hunting, dancing, acting, and 
making the most of the companionship of the Cardinal’s 
nieces. 

Politics were the fashion in conversation. A quaint 
echo is recorded in the precocious remark of a little 
girl to Madame de Rambouillet: 

" Or Qa, ma grandmaman : parlous d’affair&s d'Etat, 
d cette heure quej'ai cinq ans ! ” 


154 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


The War of the Fronde 1 seems to divide sharply 
the childhood of Louis from his later boyhood. This 
strange half-theatrical little revolution marked, too, 
the transition of the Queen Regent and Mazarin from 
absolute domination to a temporary consideration of 
the demands of Parliament and people. 

The Parliament of Paris 2 had been for years de¬ 
manding much-needed reforms, and from time to time 
offering them for the sanction of the Queen and 
Cardinal, who both considered the changes demanded 
too radical. As the Parliament showed some persist¬ 
ence, the Cardinal ordered the arrest of three prominent 
members, including Peter Broussel. 

A popular explosion followed. The people flew 
to arms, and the barricades appeared in the streets of 
Paris. All the discontented nobles supported the 
rebellious Parliament. 

Among the leaders of the rebellion was La Grande 
Mademoiselle herself, who saw in the Fronde her chance 
of playing the heroine. The adventures of this girl of 
twenty would fill a volume. She was in her element,—a 
creature full of resource and self-confidence, believing 
in herself, in her own conquering beauty, her un¬ 
rivalled attraction for men, her position as the darling 
of the mob in Paris. The rebellion of the Fronde really 
forms nothing but a background for Mademoiselle, 
whose courageous and eccentric figure is thrown 

1 The name of the Fronde had its origin in a catapult used by- 
boys, who usually aimed a stone and then ran away. 

2 The Parliament of France was nothing but a Court of Law, with 
no legislative power. The lawyers who composed its membership 
had bought their places. This body, without specified legal rights, 
made itself into the voice of the people, and kept alive popular 
resentment against unjust laws and unfair privileges at Court and 
elsewhere. 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


155 


into relief at each succeeding turn and twist of that 
erratic story. 

Paris veered with bewildering facility from one side 
to the other, but the King's position was unsafe at 
the Palais Royal. The populace did not wish the royal 
party to leave Paris, and so it happened that their 
departure to Rueil, the chosen shelter, was an un¬ 
dignified flight. 

To move the royal party secretly was no easy 
matter : it could not be done without transporting 
huge vans of furniture. On 12 September, before 
daylight, some of these heavy waggons were loaded up 
with royal necessaries and took the road for Rueil. 
The next day, also before daylight, Louis the King 
was taken from his bed, dressed, brought downstairs 
to the courtyard, put into a coach and driven off 
towards Rueil. Mazarin was in attendance. To avert 
suspicion the boy’s mother waited till the evening, 
when she also disappeared. At Rueil great discomfort 
awaited the fugitives. They had hardly the common 
necessaries of life. Even at ten years old it is difficult 
to realize the kingly Louis in such an ignominious 
situation. 

Parliament had seized the reins of Government, but 
they could not hold them for long, and soon the 
members were calling on the Queen to return to her 
duties at the head of the State. Anne returned to 
changed conditions. 

The Court had forfeited respect. All the old 
hereditary love of the people for their Kings was a thing 
of the past. There was never a moment of assured 
supremacy. It was almost impossible in the confusion 
and muddle to tell who was on the royal side. 

For the second time the King with his brother fled 


156 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


from his city of Paris—this time to the unfurnished 
palace of St. Germain. The fugitives started without 
any luggage on 5 January. Two small camp-beds 
were sent on by Mazarin. It was a strange and rather 
noisy party. Gaston’s wife, who never thought of 
anything but her own health and convenience, scolded 
and protested,—her three infant daughters also lifted 
up their voices and wept. Their father Gaston 
whistled and sang. The courtiers, with wives and 
children, had joined in the flight. The last person to 
arrive was La Grande Mademoiselle. She was so 
worshipped by the people of Paris that no one would 
have dared interfere with her movements. To complete 
the general picture of misery at St. Germain, the 
furniture and baggage did not arrive. 

It is not known how many people lay upon Mazarin’s 
two camp-beds. It is certain they were the only ones 
in the palace, and that all the children slept on the 
floor. In the days that followed, acutely uncomfort¬ 
able for the grown-up people, Louis and Philippe 
played happily about in the gardens, although their 
garments became disreputable and there were none 
available to afford a change. Mademoiselle alone 
was able to smuggle goods from Paris to the drear 
chateau, for her coach was always allowed to pass 
unchallenged. 

The second royal desertion was deeply felt. Parlia¬ 
ment again invited the Queen Regent to return ; she 
indignantly refused. Then an edict expelling Mazarin 
was issued, money was raised, and men collected to 
form an army. A deputation was sent to see the King 
at St. Germain, to explain to the boy what such an 
army meant to his people and to Paris. The chief 
speaker was too much moved by intense emotion to 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


157 


be able to finish his speech. The little King wept 
passionate boyish tears. But he could do nothing to 
help. 

The troubles of the Fronde convulsed France for four 
years. The war ended in the triumph of the royal 
power, and in such humiliation for the Parliament that 
all its privileges were extinguished till the great Revolu¬ 
tion nearly a hundred and fifty years later. The King 
and his mother came back to Paris in 1652. Recalled 
from a temporary exile, Cardinal Mazarin returned in 
1653, and again took up the reins of Government. 
Every one was delighted to see him back after four 
years of chaos in state affairs. 

The second part of the career of Louis began with 
his entry into Paris. An Englishman, John Evelyn, 
witnessed the procession when the King opened 
Parliament, and has left a picturesque account in his 
Diary. "We saw ye whole equipage and glorious 
cavalcade of the young French Monarch Lewis XIV 
passing to Parliament when first he tooke the kingly 
government on him, now being in his 14th yeare, 
out of his minority and ye Queen Regent’s pupillage. 
First came ye captains of the King’s Aydes at the 
head of 50 richly liveried ; next the Queen Mother’s 
light horse, an hundred, the lieutenant being all over 
covered with embroiderie and ribbans, having before 
him 4 trumpets habited in black velvet, full of lace 
and casques of ye same ; then the King’s light horse, 
200, richly habited, with 4 trumpets in blue velvet 
embroidered with gold, before whom rid ye Count 
d’Olonne cornet, whose belt was set with pearl; next 
went ye grand Prevost’s company on foote, with ye 
Prevoost on horseback ; after them the Swiss in black 
velvet toques led by 2 gallant cavalieres habited in 


158 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


scarlet coloured sattin after their country fashion, 
which is very fantastic : he had in his cap a pennach of 
heron with a band of diamonds and about him 12 little 
Swisse boyes with halberds. . . . Lastly appeared 
the King himself on an Isabella Barb, on which a 
houssing semee with crosses of ye Order of the Holy 
Ghost and fleur de lys ; the King himself like a young 
Apollo, was in a sute so covered with rich embroidery 
that one could perceive nothing of the stuff under it : 
he went almost the whole way with his hat in hand, 
saluting the ladies and acclamators who had filled the 
windows with their beauty and the aire with ‘ Vive le 
Roy .” He seemed a prince of a grave yet sweete 
countenance.” 

The Parliament was summoned in the great gallery 
of the Louvre, and there the boy of thirteen, with a 
great deal of grace and courtesy, gave notice of his 
intention to rule his kingdom himself. 

Mazarin said of the boy-King that he would set off 
late, but would go farther than others, and that he 
had in him the making of four Kings and one honest 
man. The Parliament hardly realized that they had 
to deal with a King who literally meant what he said. 
Two years later, the members assembled without 
being formally summoned in order to draw up certain 
remonstrances. The King was hunting at Vincennes 
when he heard of it. He rode straight to Paris and to 
the Chamber. The unexpected appearance of the boy 
in his hunting dress, whip in hand, was a startling 
interruption to their debates. He said : “ Gentlemen, 
it is well known what evils have been produced by your 
meetings ; I order you to put an end to your delibera¬ 
tions. Mr. Speaker, I forbid you to permit these 
assemblies, and I forbid any of you to demand them.” 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


159 


Thus it was a ruler not only in name who was crowned 
at Reims in that same year. 

One of his first decisions was to abandon the Palais 
Royal as his chief home, and to re-open the Louvre, 
which he considered a safer and more kingly abode. 
The ancient grandeurs and luxuries of Court life, 
half forgotten in the long reign of his unsociable father, 
were now resumed. The grim palace was filled with 
light and laughter, with a constant succession of balls, 
masks, and splendid fetes. Masquerades and ballets 
were a passion in 1655. The last time Louis is seen as a 
child, is when he appeared at a ballet in the role of 
Apollo, surrounded by nine Muses, proclaiming himself 
the world’s victor, triumphant over everything but 
love. Then a beautiful little girl appeared, carrying 
a lyre crowned with roses and myrtle, as the Goddess of 
Love and Poetry. She recited some touching verses. 

“ Ma race est du plus pur sang 
Des dieux, et sur mes montagnes 
On me voit tenir un rang 
Tout autre que mes compagnes. 

Mon jeune et royal aspect 
Inspire avec le respect 
La pitoyable tendresse, 

Et c’est a moi qu’on s’adresse, 

Quand on veut plaindre tout haut 
Le sort des grandes personnes, 

Et dire tout ce qu’il faut 
Sur la chute des couronnes.” 

This child was Henriette, the daughter of the martyred 
Charles I of England. She was now eleven years old. 
Every one seeing the two charming cousins together 
spoke of the hopes of two nations in their marriage, 
which was much discussed at the time. But at the 


160 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


moment, the young imagination of Louis was dazzled 
by the warmer and more vivid attractions of the 
Mancini sisters. 

Queen Anne gave a small private dance in honour of 
Henriette’s first formal debut at Court. She begged 
Queen Henrietta Maria to come with her daughter to 
see Louis dance. Only the ladies of honour and a few 
courtiers were invited to be present. The ball was to 
open with the branle. The King, according to his 
usual custom of noticing no one but Mazarin’s nieces, 
went up to Laura Mancini and asked her to dance. 
The Queen hurriedly put a stop to this tactless pro¬ 
ceeding, and whispered energetically to Louis to ask his 
cousin Henriette instead. Henrietta Maria, noticing 
the Queen’s perturbation, begged that the King should 
not be asked to make any sacrifice for her daughter, 
adding that Henriette had hurt her foot and could not 
dance. The French Queen firmly replied that if 
Henriette did not dance, neither should the King. In 
the end, they both danced, but Louis was much out of 
humour, and managed to say to his mother, “ I do not 
like little girls.” 

Poor little Henriette’s first appearance in the great 
world was an embittering experience. 

In 1653, Cardinal Mazarin had brought to Court two 
other nieces, Hortense and Marie Mancini. Hortense 
was beautiful and still a child. Marie was a thin girl, 
with irregular features, very plain and sallow. Her 
large dark eyes expressed nothing. Louis had reached 
the age when a susceptible boy falls in and out of 
love with facility and not much suffering to himself. 
His fancy was constantly caught by some new face. 
It was with the plain sister Marie that he now fell in 
love, and there can be little doubt that this was the 



HENRIETTA MARIA, DAUGHTER OF HENRI IV' 
From the painting by Van Dyck in the Pitti Gallery, Florence 

















CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 161 

most real and the purest passion he was ever to 
know. 

There could be no thought of a Mancini marriage. 
Even the Cardinal’s ambitions stopped short of that 
idea. The marriage of the King was a stQp in which 
the councils of all Europe were concerned. The 
prospects of a Spanish peace hung upon it, and every 
obstacle to the Spanish match must be swept aside. 
It became necessary to separate the King and Marie 
Mancini. The part this young girl had played in his 
life was to make a man of Louis. She taught him to 
appreciate literature and all the fine arts. She 
developed his intellect and his ambitions. She turned 
his mind to the contemplation of the large aspects of 
life, and inspired him with a passion for power and for 
glory. 

Nothing in his story is so touching as the parting of 
this boy and girl, who truly loved each other, when she 
was sent far away by Mazarin. Marie’s last words of 
farewell, tender and reproachful, seem to sum up all 
the sorrow and helplessness of their fate : “You weep. 
You are the King, and yet I leave.” 

Preparations for the Spanish wedding went inexor¬ 
ably forward. The Infanta, who was twenty-one, 
the same age as Louis, had all her life been told that 
she would either marry the King of France, or go 
into a nunnery. The marriage by proxy was cele¬ 
brated at Fontarabia on 3 June, 1660. 

Madame de Motteville was present at the wedding 
and has left a description of the Infanta Marie Therese. 
She was small but well made, with a white skin, fair 
hair, and vivacious blue eyes. Her face was long, the 
lips rather thick, the cheeks rather fat. If her figure 
had been taller and her teeth better, Madame says, 
11 


162 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


she might have been good-looking. Her dress she 
describes as horrible and disfiguring. The Spanish 
ladies, she says, did not wear anything firm on their 
bodies, and the collars were open behind. The sleeves 
were small and slashed. Monstrous hoops stiffened 
with barrel hoops were worn flattened in front and 
behind and bulging at the sides. The whole apparatus 
swayed up and down with ludicrous effect when the 
ladies walked. The Infanta had her hair dressed 
broadly with a mass of false hair completely hiding her 
own. Her dress was white, embroidered in talc—an 
unusual trimming, but the use of silver was forbidden 
in Spain. 

At the actual marriage at St. Jean de Luz, this dress 
was discarded, and the girl, dressed in the French 
style, looked much better. Philippe, the King’s 
brother, led her to the altar. 

Philippe now bore the title of due d’Orleans. 
“ Little Monsieur ” found it impossible to conceal his 
delight at his uncle Gaston’s death,—not so much 
on account of the dignities to which he now fell heir, 
as that the event gave him the chance of appearing 
in new suits of mourning, a long trailing mantle of 
violet velvet giving the finishing touch to his self- 
satisfaction. His marriage with the Princess Hen- 
riette of England was arranged, and this beautiful 
and charming child of sixteen was married to the 
effeminate and decadent little Prince in the private 
chapel of the Palais Royal on 31 March, 1661. 

Philippe took his wife to live at the Tuileries and at 
Fontainebleau, until they finally settled at St. Cloud. 
The Treaty of the Pyrenees, giving peace with Spain 
at last, in the marriage of Louis XIV with the Infanta, 
was the final achievement of Cardinal Mazarin. His 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XIII 


163 


health had long been failing, but his undefeated spirit 
enabled him to the last to carry through plans he had 
begun. When the end was near, he shut himself up 
with the young King, giving him advice and direction. 
The boy shed tears when he realized that the controlling 
hand was soon to be removed. He said he did not 
know what to do. 

The exit of the great Minister left the King alone 
upon the stage. All other personalities vanish into 
the background. The limelight is thrown full on the 
young figure, boyish still, but already touched with the 
possibility of some heroic fortitude, in all the loneliness, 
the pathetic isolation of a great position. 

All eyes are fixed upon him. On whose shoulders 
is the Cardinal’s mantle to descend ? Into whose 
hands will Louis commit the rule of his realm ? 


CHAPTER X 


CHILDREN OF THE GREAT DAYS 
FTER the death of Cardinal Mazarin, Louis XIV 



./jLshut himself up alone for two hours—a short 
space of time in which to formulate a decision which 
was to prove most momentous for France. During 
those two hours of reflection, the vision rose before 
him of an existence involving strenuous endeavour, 
unending mental effort, and a world of courage and 
endurance. To accept that existence, with all its 
sacrifice, was his firm resolve. He was twenty-three, 
in full vigour of mind and body, and he possessed, 
not only the ambition of a ruler, but the qualities of a 
worker. 

“ I resolved not to have a first Minister, and not to 
permit to be filled by another the functions belonging 
to the King, as long as I bear the title.” 

The decision provoked some good-natured laughter 
at Court. The King was so young, so given to 
pleasure, so entirely innocent of the grinding pres¬ 
sure of State affairs. A very few days of labour 
would suffice to show him how impossible was the 
sacrifice. 

As the days passed on, the laughter died down. The 
Great Conde and the Cardinal de Retz waited for the 
call that should summon one or the other to the helm 


CHILDREN OF THE GREAT DAYS 165 


of state. The call never came. The King had really 
lifted the burden to his own shoulders. 

" I felt immediately my spirit and courage elevated. 
I found myself a different individual. I discovered 
in myself a mind which I did not know existed, and I 
reproached myself for having so long ignored this 
joy. ... At length it seemed to me I was really 
King, and born to rule. I experienced a sense of 
well-being difficult to express.” 

He confronted immense difficulties. Chief among 
them was his own education, which Mazarin had taken 
care to neglect. His ignorance appalled him. He knew 
that there was much that never could be remedied, 
but he went humbly back to the sources of learning. 

As chief of the state, the young King’s labours were 
unrelaxing. The courtiers were terribly bored. The 
King had always been regarded as merely a figure¬ 
head for state affairs, but as the centre of all the 
pleasures, excitements, and small intrigues of the 
Court. Now he shut himself up for hours every day 
with his business and his studies. Nothing had any 
effect upon his resolution to fit himself to reign, and to 
reign absolutely. 

The first year of the King’s married life was passed 
mostly at Fontainebleau. Maria Theresa enjoyed there 
her little hour of importance and consideration before 
the birth of her first child. Soon she was to become 
the merest shadow in the great affairs of the reign. 
Her sister-in-law, 1 who never attempted flattery, has 
left in her memoirs a biting description of the Queen : 

“ Our Queen was excessively ignorant, but the 

1 Charlotte Elizabeth of Bavaria, second wife of Monsieur, the 
King’s brother, known as “ Madame,” born 1652, died at St. Cloud 
1722. She was the mother of the Regent Philippe d’Orleans. 


166 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


kindest and most virtuous woman in the world. . . . 
She believed everything the King told her, good or 
bad. Her teeth were very ugly, being black and 
broken—from the constant habit of taking chocolate ; 
she also frequently ate garlic. She was short and fat 
and her skin was very white. She ate frequently and 
for a long time, but her food was always cut in pieces 
so small as if they were for a singing-bird. She could 
not forget her country, and her manners were always 
remarkably Spanish. . . . She had such an affection 
for the King that she used to watch his eyes to do what¬ 
ever might be agreeable to him ; if he only looked at her 
kindly, she was in good spirits for the rest of the day.” 

The Spanish girl was utterly unfitted by nature and 
education to be either a Queen or a companion for 
Louis. She had been taught nothing except to remain 
impassive on all occasions, and had no natural wit or 
cleverness. Stiff and formal, she could never take her 
part in the careless gaiety of French life. Her position 
as the leading spirit was usurped by the fascinating 
English princess Henriette, now known as “ Madame ,” 
wife of the King’s brother. Her infinite grace and 
charm won all hearts. The King, who had once de¬ 
spised her as a “ little girl,” now sought her company 
on all occasions. 

After the long hours of steady labour in state 
affairs, Louis appreciated, in his leisure time, the 
society of men and women who were not too serious. 
He wanted wit, originality, and quickness at repartee. 
Lightness, humour, and grace were the gifts most 
valued at Court. French characteristics as they are 
known to-day, became more definitely marked. 

Fontainebleau was the scene of a succession of brilliant 
entertainments, including every description of open-air 


CHILDREN OF THE GREAT DAYS 167 


fete, designed to please and distract the King for an 
hour. Variety was the breath of life. 

Every device must be fanciful, fantastic, or senti¬ 
mental, and, above all, must bear the charm of novelty. 
A hundred wits set about devising new ideas in pastoral 
plays, moonlight gatherings in the romantic glades 
of Fontainebleau, quaint masks, water expeditions in 
gondolas, and surprising forest supper parties. 

Louis was possessed of so fascinating a personality 
that, wherever he went, all ceremony was touched with 
the glamour of romance. A majestic presence was 
united with a magnetic attraction, and he had the 
delightful gift of charm and courtesy of manner. There 
had been no figure, at once so winning and so princely, 
since the days of Francois I. 

Six Children of France 1 * * 4 came to fill the royal nursery. 
Large families were everywhere the rule in Europe, 
but, even in the healthiest families, few babies sur¬ 
vived. Life after life was sacrificed to ignorance, 
carelessness, and superstition, even in those nurseries 
where all the known resources of science were avail¬ 
able. The death-roll in countless poorer homes, 


1 The following is a list of the children of Louis XIV and Maria 
Theresa :— 

(1) Louis Toussaint, the first Dauphin de France, born i 
November 1661; married 7 March, 1680, Marie Anne de Baviere ; 
died at Meudon, 14 April, 1711, leaving three sons. 

(2) Anne Elisabeth, born 18 November, 1662 ; died 30 
December, 1662. 

(3) Marie Anne, born 16 November, 1664 ; died 26 December, 
1664. 

(4) Marie Therdse, born 2 July, 1667 ; died 1 March, 1672. 

(5) Philippe, due d’Anjou, born 5 August, 1668; died 10 
July, 1671. 

(6) Louis Fran5ois, due d'Anjou, born 14 June, 1672 ; died 

4 November, 1672. 


168 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


where even blinder prejudice and denser ignorance 
prevailed, has of course never found record. The 
picture of Court life is everywhere shadowed with the 
oft-recurring sorrow, the hardest to be borne of all the 
griefs that befall humanity, the death of little children. 

Little heed was given, by chroniclers of great deeds 
and great quarrels, to the brief lives that flickered 
so unsteadily across the stage of history. There was 
so much to report of the children who did manage 
to live, and to pass on the torch to other generations ; 
and, after all, only the parents had any real interest, 
or kept any living remembrance of the vanished babies. 
Looking back to the early married years of the great 
Louis XIV and his Queen, it is clear that they brought 
almost constant sorrow. Louis the Dauphin, the 
eldest of the group, was born at Fontainebleau in 1661. 
This was “ Monseigneur,” the Grand Dauphin, who, the 
the son of a king, was destined to be the father of a 
king and never to be king himself. Born on All 
Souls’ Day, i November, he received from his god¬ 
mother, Queen Henrietta Maria, the quaint name of 
Toussaint in addition to that of Louis. No child had 
ever been born to such a heritage of promised glory, 
or more lamentably fell short of its achievement. 
In 1662 Anne Elisabeth, the King’s eldest daughter, 
was born at the Louvre. She lived only six weeks. 
Flattering Court chroniclers say that she gave promise 
of great beauty. The young King was profoundly 
moved at the death of this baby. All the royal family 
were at the death-bed. The Queen Mother expressed 
a wish that she herself could have been taken instead 
of the baby, and begged with tears that the heart 
should be given to her for her convent of Val-de-Grace. 
The next day she herself carried the heart there, and 


CHILDREN OF THE GREAT DAYS 169 


giving it to the Abbess, said, “ My Mother, I bring you 
a heart to which my own will soon be joined.” 

The death of so small a child was, however, of little 
account. It would be thought best to forget it as quickly 
as possible. Only a week’s retirement was allowed, 
and then Court festivities recommenced. Two years 
passed, and then came another little daughter, Marie 
Anne. The Court chroniclers describe her as “a 
little hairy swarthy girl ” and “ a monstrous appari¬ 
tion,” so perhaps it was as well that she lived only 
ten days. Three years after, in 1667, Marie Th6rese 
was born at St. Germain, the “ Petite Madame ” who 
lived five years. Her aunt, Charlotte Elizabeth of 
Bavaria, in her historical fragments, left a short de¬ 
scription of this poor child. “ A cautery had drawn, 
her mouth all on one side, so that it was almost entirely 
in her left cheek. For this reason talking was very 
painful to her, and she said very little. Just when 
she was about to die, her mouth returned to its proper 
place and she did not seem at all ugly. I was present 
at her death ; she did not say a word to her father. 

. . . The King, who had a good heart and was very 
fond of his children, wept excessively. . . . The Queen 
was not present. . . . They would not let her come. 
The people cannot be persuaded that the child is not 
still alive, and say that it is in a convent at Moret. 
It is, however, quite certain that the ugly child is dead ; 
for ali the Court saw it die.” 

Another son of France, Philippe, due d’Anjou, was 
born at St. Germain in 1668, to the joy of the nation. 
From the first he was very delicate. Remedy was 
sought in a perpetual change of nurses, and the doctors 
used one of their fashionable cures in applying a 
cautery to the poor child, who seems always to have 


170 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


been in a decline. When the King saw that there 
was no hope for the life of his second son, he decided 
on his immediate baptism and asked La Grande Made¬ 
moiselle to stand godmother. Mademoiselle’s own life 
had always been so stormy and unhappy that she was 
afraid of bringing the baby bad luck, and asked the 
King to appoint some one else, who would not feel the 
child’s loss so much. Soon after the baptism the 
baby died, to the extreme grief of both the King and 
the Queen. 

The third son, Louis Francois, was born in 1672 and 
lived only five months. Thus in fifteen months the 
King lost three of his children. Mourning was not 
worn for children under seven, and signs of grief would 
be considered a lamentable weakness if continued 
beyond a few days. Only one Child of France was 
left, Louis Toussaint, the Grand Dauphin. Remem¬ 
bering his own neglected education, Louis XIV spared 
no pains in providing his son with the best of tutors 
and giving him all means of cultivating and develop¬ 
ing his mind as a boy. Never were golden oppor¬ 
tunities more completely thrown away. The mind of 
Monseigneur revelled in ignorance ; he had not the 
smallest interest in knowledge of any kind, and after 
school days were past never opened a book. In 
every particular of mind and body, he was exactly 
the opposite of his father. He had none of his high 
sense of public duty, none of his industry, his imagina¬ 
tion, or his discernment. He was fat and idle, rather 
tall, with an expressionless face, and feet so small that 
he never walked properly, but shuffled as if afraid of 
falling. One manly taste he shared with his father : 
both were passionately fond of the chase. While the 
favourite sports of the King were wild boar hunting 


CHILDREN OF THE GREAT DAYS 171 


and stag-hunting, Monseigneur preferred the more useful 
pursuit of wolf-hunting. He would rise at five in the 
morning and be in the saddle for ten hours. Followed 
by twenty-five of his friends, and dressed in a blue coat 
trimmed with gold and silver, a red waistcoat, a hat 
with a white plume, blue knee-breeches, and top-boots 
and gold-fringed gloves, he ran through a great many 
dangers and fatigues He is said to have ultimately 
destroyed every wolf in the woods round Versailles. 

The Queen Mother, Anne of Austria, died at Fontaine¬ 
bleau in 1666. 

Three years later, in September 1669, the Queen of 
England, La Reine Malheureuse, whom she had so 
constantly and kindly befriended, died also. She was 
at her summer palace of Colombes near Paris. Her 
death was sudden. She was carried to St. Denis, and 
there laid beside her father, Henri IV. In a few 
months the vault was opened again to receive yet 
another of her race. 

The Palace of St. Cloud, with its exquisite gardens 
and pleasure grounds and its great memories, was 
the home of her daughter Henriette and her family. 1 


1 The children of Monsieur the King’s brother were as follows :— 
By his first wife, Henriette of England— 

(1) Maria Louisa, born 1662 ; married, 1679, Charles II of 
Spain ; died 1689. 

(2) Due de Valois, born 1664 > died 1666. 

(3) N. de France, born 1665 and died the same day. 

(4) Anna Maria, born 1669 ; married, 1684, Victor Amadeus 
of Savoie ; died 1728. 

By his second wife, Charlotte Elizabeth of Bavaria— 

(1) Alexandre Louis, born 1673 ; died 1676. 

(2) Philippe (the Regent), born 1674 ; married the King’s 
daughter, Mile de Blois, 1692 ; died 1723. 

(3) Elisabeth Charlotte, bom 1676; married the due de 
Lorraine, 1698 ; died 1744. 


172 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


The King, who never ceased to be much attached to 
Henriette, was constantly there with his Court, and 
no doubt Monseigneur, and perhaps Petite Madame too, 
would be taken there to play with the little girl cousins. 
There tragedy befell, when on 30 June 1670 all the 
brilliance and pleasure was thrown suddenly into 
darkness by the death of the beautiful Henriette, a 
death that then brought with it the gravest suspicion 
of poison, but which in the light of modern science can 
be pronounced to have been really natural. 

The King was profoundly affected. He seemed 
always in the midst of tragedy in his private life. 

His career as head of the State was full of triumph. 
The Spanish marriage had not resulted in a lasting 
peace with Spain. When Philip IV of Spain died, in 
1665, Louis set up a claim through his wife upon certain 
Spanish dominions; these claims were naturally 
resisted and hostilities flamed afresh. 

While immense sums were being spent on foreign 
wars, the King was building at home. His imagination 
was always on a magnificent scale, and his dreams took 
a sumptuous shape. 

As a boy of thirteen, Louis had once paid a visit to 
a hunting lodge built by his father in the woods not 
far from Paris. He found a small chateau called 
Versailles, built, in the fashion of 1625, on three sides 
of a court-yard. There was a moat round it and stone 
balustrades. The boy liked the place. He often went 
to Versailles to hunt. In 1662 he began to give 
magnificent entertainments in the park, which he had 
extended and improved. The desire to build began to 
make itself strongly felt, and he conceived the idea of 
enlarging the chateau. The immense buildings at Ver¬ 
sailles were begun, and carried on for over forty years. 


CHILDREN OF THE GREAT DAYS 173 


The expense was enormous. A perfect army of skilled 
workmen, marble-cutters, artificers in metal, painters, 
sculptors, and decorators were constantly occupied. 
Besides these, twenty-two thousand labourers and six 
thousand horses were all at work on the palace or the 
park, when the King came to live there. Finally, in 
May 1682, he took possession. From thenceforth 
Versailles became the centre of Court life, the scene 
of unparalleled splendours. In the midst of the 
gilt and marble magnificence, the cold was bitter. 
Draughts swept unceasingly through the superb 
galleries. There was no comfort anywhere. 

In grandeur, in its wealth of artistic detail, in the 
sumptuous lodging it afforded to the vast throng of 
the courtiers, Louis must have felt that Versailles 
fulfilled its purpose, as a fitting setting for the home 
life of the greatest monarch in the world. Two 
hundred years of poignant history and of the soften¬ 
ing of time, have thrown a glamour over the imposing 
mass of building. But at the time of its completion 
the great dwelling must have seemed bleak, cold, and 
new to a court accustomed to the more intimate 
charm of Fontainebleau sheltered in its enchanting 
woods, or to St. Germain, with its hoary memories, 
commanding the river Seine, or even to the dark 
Louvre, full of secrets, set in the midst of the full tide 
of a nation’s central life flowing closely round its 
ancient walls. Louis never cared for Paris. He 
decreed that all royal life should centre at Versailles. 
There too were gathered all the men of the day most 
distinguished in art and letters. Louis was a mag¬ 
nificent patron and friend to genius, wherever he 
found it. 

The people of France, carried to enthusiasm by the 


174 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


success of their arms abroad and the magnificence of 
their King at home, did not grudge Louis the glory, or 
count the cost of either one or the other The rising 
sun was his device ; his motto, Nec pluribus impur. As 
a hero and a demigod he was hailed with worship and 
acclamation on his way through his cities to join the 
army, or to return after victory to his Court. Extra¬ 
ordinary demonstrations marked these events. It 
was the custom of the King to kiss every woman who 
appeared at Court on ihese occasions. He was obliged 
to renounce the habit on account of the large number 
of women who came from Paris to share in this 
ceremony. 

When the King embarked on his campaigns, the 
ladies of his family and household went with him 
and followed the flag through a series of real dis¬ 
comforts and privations. It is extraordinary how 
these delicate women, used to soft living and totally 
untrained to bodily fatigue, endured the hardships of 
such travel. La Grande Mademoiselle had set the 
example of warlike spirit in women. Louis XIV ex¬ 
pected the Queen and her ladies to accept without 
question a mode of life that excluded not only all 
luxury but the common decencies of daily life. He 
hated grumbling or peevishness, and every one had 
to pretend to enjoy the adventure. 

To the little Queen, Maria Theresa, life was rather 
a dreary affair. She loved Louis, and was obliged to 
witness without protest the centreing of all his in¬ 
terests and affections on other women. She had been 
married only a short time when she was supplanted 
by Louise de la Valliere. 

Of all the women of her day, La Valliere was the most 
appealing. She was soft, loving, and humble. “ There 


CHILDREN OF THE GREAT DAYS 175 


was an inexpressible charm in her countenance,” writes 
Charlotte Elizabeth, “ her figure was elegant, but not 
striking, her whole appearance was unassuming. 
She was slightly lame and not beautiful.” Her pale 
star was soon eclipsed before the blinding attractions 
of Madame de Montespan. “ Her figure was ugly 
and clumsy,” writes the candid Madame, describing 
Montespan, “ but her eyes bespoke great intelligence, 
though they were somewhat too bright ; her mouth 
was very pretty, and her smile uncommonly agreeable. 
Her complexion was fairer than La Valliere’s, her 
look was more bold, and her general appearance 
denoted her intriguing temper. She had very beauti¬ 
ful light hair, fine arms, and pretty hands, which La 
Valliere had not ; but the latter was always very neat, 
and Montespan was very dirty. She was very amusing 
in conversation.” 

The triumphant Montespan was in her turn also to 
see herself supplanted. Her children’s governess was 
of so unpretentious a personality that she had never 
paid her the compliment of suspecting for a moment 
that she could ever contest her throne. Madame 
Scarron was the young widow of a middle-aged cripple 
and burlesque poet, Paul Scarron, whom she had 
married when she was seventeen. He died after eight 
years, leaving her in great poverty. 

“ She is not only beautiful,” writes one who knew 
her well, “ and of a kind of beauty which is always 
pleasing; but she is also sweet-tempered, discreet, 
and of a grateful disposition, trustworthy, modest, 
and very intelligent, and she makes use of these gifts 
to amuse others and to win their sympathy.” It is 
easily to be understood that Madame de Montespan, 
was delighted to find such a woman as this to take 


176 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


charge of her children. The post was a difficult one 
to fill, for the existence of the Montespan children 
was at first supposed to be a secret from the world. 
The Marquise did£not care for her own children. 
Madame Scarron, whose nature was thoroughly 
motherly, loved them extremely, doting indeed far 
too much on the oldest boy, the due de Maine. Her 
care for them was unremitting. The King often 
talked with her when he went to see the children. 
When to his intense sorrow some of the little ones 
died, he found a wealth of sympathy, not in the real 
mother, but in the governess, who endured the same 
suffering. At all times he saw in her a woman of 
discretion, good temper, and steady cheerfulness. 
She had all the qualities lacking in Madame de Monte¬ 
span, who, herself uncomfortably conscious of her 
own shortcomings, became suspicious and jealous at 
last. The King treated Madame Scarron with un¬ 
failing respect. In reward for her devoted services to 
his children, he purchased for her, in 1674, the estate 
of Maintenon near Chartres, about ten miles from 
Versailles. Thenceforward she was known as Madame 
de Maintenon. 

After ten years of association with Madame de 
Montespan, the tie was brought to an end. The 
King’s thoughts became more and more absorbed by 
the grave attractions of the older woman. 

Then, in 1683, the Queen died, and the whole situa¬ 
tion changed. A few months after the Queen’s 
death, Louis and Madame de Maintenon were privately 
married. The bride was forty-eight, the King three 
years younger. The whole tone of Court life and 
manners underwent a] complete and much resented 
change. A storm of anger and contemptuous criticism 


CHILDREN OF THE GREAT DAYS 177 


was levelled at the new wife. She met everything 
with calm dignity. She had nothing to fear, and easily 
held her empire in the King’s estimation for thirty years. 

With the King’s marriage to Madame de Maintenoi}, 
the third epoch of the reign began. The great days 
were over, with all the splendours of the Court, the 
creative outburst of art and literature, the military 
genius, the superb statesmanship. The King ceased 
to govern for himself. He listened to Madame de 
Maintenon, who was devoted to the Church, and to 
his confessor, the Pere Tellier. With the best in¬ 
tentions in the world, these counsellors gave Louis 
the worst advice. In October 1685, at Fontainebleau, 
he signed the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. To 
this day, France suffers from the blow dealt to her 
greatness and prosperity. He had put back the hands 
of the clock a hundred years. A Continental war 
followed. Louis encountered a check fatal to his 
prestige. He learnt to endure defeat. But nothing 
mattered as long as Madame de Maintenon and his 
confessor praised him. He lived only for their approval. 


12 


CHAPTER XI 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 

L EAST romantic of all the personalities at Court 
was that of the young Monseigneur, the 
Dauphin. The boy was eighteen when Louis XIV 
decided that he must be married. He was at the 
moment the greatest match in Europe. The lady 
finally selected by Louis was Marie Anne Christine 
Victoire of Bavaria. 1 * * * * 6 The King and Queen went to 
meet her at Chatou. The bride was nineteen. La 
Grande Mademoiselle tells us that she was dressed in 
blue brocade with white ribbons in her hair, and also 
that she had black hair and was red from the cold. 
She was hideous to look upon. The King had con¬ 
sulted Monseigneur as to whether he objected to 
marry so plain a bride. He answered that he only 
sought sense and intelligence. Both were found in 

1 The children of the Grand Dauphin and Marie Anne of Bavaria 
were as follows :— 

(i) Louis, due de Bourgogne, born 6 August, 1682. After the 

death of his father in 1711 he was known as the Second Dauphin. 
Married, 6 December, 1697, Marie Adelaide de Savoie. He died 
six days after his wife, 18 February, 1712. 

(2) Philippe, due d’Anjou, born 19 December, 1683. King 
of Spain 1700. Married, first, Marie Louise Gabrielle de Savoie ; 
second, Elisabeth Farnese. Died in 1746. 

(3) Charles, due de Berry, born 31 August, 1686 ; married, 

6 July, 1710, Marie Louise Elisabeth, daughter of the due 
d’Orleans. Died 4 May, 1714. 

178 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


179 


the cultivated little Dauphine, but she proved a 
melancholy companion, given to long spells of depres¬ 
sion, and to endless solicitude for her own health. 
The life at Versailles did not dazzle her. She had 
an immense pride in her own race and the glory of the 
little kingdom she had left. 

In one sense Marie Anne fulfilled her duty. She 
gave the Dauphin children. Her first son, Louis, 
due de Bourgogne, was born 6 August, 1682. The 
event happened at Versailles. It was the first royal 
birth at the new palace. The King’s anxiety was 
intense. No one could have been more tender in his 
care for the Dauphine. The whole Court and the whole 
country exulted in a tumult of enthusiasm in this birth, 
which gave an heir to France in the third generation. 

An enormous crowd assembled in and outside the 
palace in breathless expectancy. When the King 
appeared holding the baby in his arms, public 
enthusiasm rose to inconvenient heights. The mob 
tore up the parquetry flooring to make a bonfire, 
seizing upon furniture and anything inflammable they 
could find. The King was unmoved. “ We can get 
new parquets,” he said. The mass of people pressed 
so closely round him, that he stood for a moment in 
real danger of suffocation. 

In the following year, 19 December, 1683, came 
another child, Philippe, due d’Anjou. It had been a 
year of mourning at Court, for the King had lost his 
wife, Queen Maria Theresa, and two of his sons, the 
comte de Vermandois, 1 who was sixteen, and the 
comte de Vexin, 2 who was ten years old. The small 
grandson came in the midst of the mourning. 

1 The son of Louise de la Valli&re. 

2 The second son of Madame de Montespan. 


180 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


A third son, Charles, due de Berry, was bom to 
Monseigneur and his wife on 31 August, 1686, the last 
of the family. 

The three little boys, the first Children of France 
to enliven the vast galleries and splendid gardens of 
Versailles, brought a great deal of hope and happiness 
to the King, who had seen so many of his children 
playing in the halls and gardens—sons and daughters 
who could not claim the name of Bourbon, or carry 
on the royal tradition. The three sons of Mon¬ 
seigneur, little regarded by their father, who never 
treated them as if they were his own, were a gracious 
sign of the permanence of the royal race in the sight 
of their grandfather the King. He watched over their 
bringing-up, delighted in their spirit and boyish ways, 
and loved them with the love his great heart always 
yielded to children of his blood and his name. 

The boys’ governess was the Marechale de la Motte. 
According to the royal custom which had held good 
for so many generations, each child, as he reached the 
age of seven, was removed from the care of women 
and transferred to that of governors and tutors. In 
the case of the eldest boy, these were most carefuly 
chosen by the King. Monsieur de Beauvillier was 
his governor, but his tutor and chief companion was 
the great Fenelon. 1 

The boy was delicate and spoiled. Nurses and 
governess pronounced him unmanageable. He could 
not bear contradiction. He was proud with the pride 
that easily becomes ignoble, rebellious in his attitude 

1 Francois de Salignac de la Mothe F6nelon, born 6 August, 1651, 
became a priest in 1675 and Archbishop of Cambrai in 1675. He 
died 7 January, 1715. He was a great educational author and a 
noted mystic in theology. 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


181 


to authority, loving pleasure, and determined to have 
his own way. Beneath all these failings, the founda¬ 
tions of a fine character stood secure. He was 
absolutely truthful and sincere. Moreover, he had 
intellect and a conscience. 

Fenelon did marvels with this boy. He recognized 
from the first that he had to deal with fine material, 
that there were qualities in the little Louis that fitted 
him to be a king. Fenelon had his own ideas about 
kingship, and they were not those of Louis XIV, with 
his magnificent claim, " L’ fctat, c’est moi .” The great 
scholar and mystic bent his mind and his faculties to 
the task, which he knew to be beautiful and sacred, of 
inspiring the child, who would some day be king, with 
the resolve to live for the happiness of his people. 

The character of Louis was transformed ; he learned 
the divine lesson of the beauty of restraint and self- 
control. Once, when the boy was very young, he 
rebelled against the authority of Fenelon, with an 
outburst of childish arrogance. “ I know who I am,” 
he said, “ and I know who you are.” Fenelon did not 
reply till the next morning, and then quietly ex¬ 
plained that his pupil was wrong in supposing himself 
superior, except in birth, which was not a matter to 
be considered at the moment, and said they must 
both go at once to the King and ask him to choose 
another tutor. Louis cried and protested. Fenelon 
was firm. In the end, Madame de Maintenon, always 
soft-hearted, and anxious to grant indulgence to any 
child, interposed and made peace. 

More often the boy showed himself wholly loving 
and submissive. “ I leave outside the door the due 
de Bourgogne,” he said, when he was nine years old, 
“ and with you I am nothing more than little Louis.” 


182 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


For love of Fenelon he subdued his passionate pride 
and self-will, and Fenelon pays him the high tribute 
of saying, “ I have never seen anyone whom I had less 
fear of displeasing in telling him hard truths about 
himself.” 

The little Prince wrote simple and charming letters 
showing very clearly the relationship between the 
high, spiritual mind of the man which, out of its depths 
of sympathy, could appreciate the small tender in¬ 
terests of his pupil, and the dawning character of the 
boy. 

“ My cold is much better,” writes the little Louis 
from Fontainebleau on 23 October 1696, “ even quite 
done with ; I have been going out the last two days. 
We have had horrid weather till then, almost constant 
rain. We return to Versailles the day after to-morrow, 
and I shall go back to my usual ways, interrupted a 
little by this illness When I left Versailles the canary 
had ceased to moult, and begun to sing again. I 
have finished the History of Francis I, and am in the 
middle of the Fourth Book of Tacitus. I hope to 
finish in three weeks. I desire to see you again very 
soon, and in good health. Till then, I beseech you be 
well assured of my love for you. Do not forget to 
write to me now and then ; your letters always give 
me pleasure.” 

Fenelon gave five years of his life to the training 
of all three little brothers, though the eldest boy was 
more especially his charge. 

" They lived plainly,” writes a contemporary, 
“ being only allowed dry bread in the morning but 
as much as they liked of the simple food served them 
at dinner and at supper. They kept Lent more or 
less according to their age, Monseigneur de Bourgogne 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


183 


having begun to observe it scrupulously. As for their 
other rules, no citizen of Paris would risk such a 
system. They wear nothing on their heads even when 
riding or when it rains. They go out daily, whatever 
may be the weather, and take violent exercise, some¬ 
times, when at Fontainebleau, remaining out the 
whole day. . . . They rise at 7.45 and go to Mass, 
then to the levee of the Dauphin for a moment, then to 
the King, remaining till 9.30. From 10 to 12 they 
study. They then dine together, and amuse themselves 
in their own apartments till 2.45. In summer they 
study till 5 ; in winter they spend the same time out 
of doors. At 8 they sup, and afterwards play at indoor 
games till about 9. 

“ They go out together, and three or four young 
lords with them ; but they are alone the rest of the day. 
They are forbidden to whisper to each other, but must 
always speak out to every one. On Sundays and fete 
days their lessons are religious . . . M. de Fenelon 
has a horror of pedantry, and dwells chiefly on the 
study of politics, history, and military tactics. The 
object is to teach them everything that is beautiful 
and curious and useful in all arts and sciences, but 
nothing to be specialized, a definite pursuit being re¬ 
garded as unworthy and ridiculous in a prince.” 

The young due de Bourgogne lost Fenelon when he 
was thirteen. The order of the King, who had never 
liked Fenelon, definitely separated the two. On a 
plea of his dangerous doctrines, he was exiled from 
Court. 1 For four years no correspondence was allowed. 
Then, as if the limits of submission were reached, 

1 The King was deeply prejudiced against anything new, and he 
liked to display his orthodoxy. Rome had condemned the doctrines 
of Fenelon, who died unpardoned at Cambrai early in 1715. 


184 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Louis wrote, pouring out the sorrows and difficulties 
of his young heart. Fenelon’s reply is one of the finest 
achievements of his life, in its sober eloquence and 
restraint of all emotion, reminding the boy that their 
tie was not in personal, but in spiritual relationship. 

" My heaviest cross is in not seeing you ; but I am 
with you unceasingly before God, in a presence more 
intimate than that of the senses. ... I would give 
a thousand lives like a drop of water, to see you such as 
God desires you to be.” 

The love of this child was the master emotion of his 
life. It was not at any time a blind absorption, and 
flattery was impossible to the austere heights his 
love had attained. In after years the pair met at 
rare intervals, and these were shining days for them 
both. But to the end of the life of Louis, Fenelon 
continued to write to him long letters of guidance, 
full of ardour, plain-spoken, candid—the supreme 
effort of his intellect and heart, which had from the 
first only desired to spend itself in lifting the young 
soul into the presence of God. 

Louis emerged from childhood with a character 
definitely noble. Not one of all the Bourbon race 
showed such fine impulses or such high ideals. He 
was great enough in his conception of duty to have 
made the necessary sacrifices to save the monarchy. 

As if an ironic Fate controlled the destinies of France, 
it was decreed that this spirit, so finely touched to 
fine issues, and rich in all instincts of truth and justice, 
should never achieve the redemption of his dynasty. 
Instead of reigning, he was to die. Instead of leaving 
to his race some strain of character that should carry 
on his noble tradition, he was to be the father of Louis 
XV. 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


185 


The next brother, Philippe, was silent and rather 
apathetic. Madame, in giving a description of the 
boys, says both the elder ones were very hunch¬ 
backed, and that this was caused by their being made 
to carry iron crosses for the purpose of keeping them 
upright. There is probably a good deal of exaggera¬ 
tion in the picture. Madame’s portraits are always 
unflattering, and not always borne out by the descrip¬ 
tions of other people. According to her view, the 
due de Bourgogne, pronounced by others a handsome 
boy, dark-eyed with regular features, had “ a very 
ill-looking mouth, a sickly appearance, small stature, 
and a hump at his back,” and Philippe, due d’Anjou, 
was ill-made. She allows him, however, some personal 
attraction. He was taller than his brothers and had 
fair hair and dark eyes, a clear red and white com¬ 
plexion and good features. Charles, due de Berry, 
was altogether different in disposition. He was a 
good-looking, boisterous child, gay, frank, and popular. 
As he grew up, he could only talk of hunting and 
shooting, though as a boy he was noted for his sharp 
replies. He never learned much beyond reading and 
writing, and persuaded himself that he was a fool, 
incapable of mental effort. The boy’s mother, the 
melancholy little Dauphine, died in 1690, when Berry 
was four. Their father, the Dauphin, never paid 
any attention to his children. 

The boys were devoted to each other. They are 
seen together in one little scene, in 1698, when the 
due de Bourgogne was fourteen and his brothers, 
Philippe and Charles, thirteen and ten years old. 
The bride of the eldest, Marie Adelaide de Savoie, 
was about to arrive in France. The boys w r ere deeply 
interested. Little Charles asked Philippe if he would 


186 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


not like to be married too, and whether he would 
make his wife happy. To both questions Philippe 
answered, “Yes.” “ But what should you do if she 
did not like you to go hunting ? ” “I should not 
go,” said the chivalrous Philippe. Charles then 
remarked, “ I would try to make my wife happy, but 
in things that concerned only myself, I would be 
master.” 

The marriage of the King’s grandson and heir was 
the subject of much anxious thought. The princess 
ultimately chosen, Marie Adelaide de Savoie, was the 
grand-daughter of Henriette of England, Monsieur’s 
first wife, and was therefore a grand-niece of Louis 
XIV. She was born 6 December 1685. 

The King went to Montargis to meet the bridal 
party. His letter to Madame de Maintenon gives 
the best description of the little bride. 

“ She has the best grace and the prettiest figure I 
have ever seen ; dressed like a picture and her hair 
done the same ; eyes very bright and very beautiful, 
and lashes black and admirable ; complexion very 
even, white and red, all one could wish; the finest 
blonde hair that was ever seen and a great mass of 
it. She is thin, which is natural to her age, her 
mouth is rosy, the lips full, the teeth white, long, 
and irregular, her hands well made, but the colour of 
her age. She speaks little, as far as I have heard, is 
not embarrassed when looked at, like one who has 
seen the world. She curtsies badly with a somewhat 
Italian air. ... I am entirely satisfied . . . she is 
short rather than tall for her age. . . . She says 
little, but that little is to the point in reply to ques¬ 
tions asked her. . . . Her air is noble and her manners 
polished and agreeable. ... I forgot to say that I 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 187 

have seen her play at spilikins in a charming 
manner.” 

The bridegroom met her at Nemours, and the whole 
party returned to Fontainebleau. 

The two children were scarcely ever allowed to see 
each other. They had no chance of becoming play¬ 
mates and friends. They met once a fortnight, and 
Anjou and Berry might only visit their sister-in-law 
once a month. 

The marriage was celebrated at Versailles in De¬ 
cember 1697. The young Louis wore a black velvet 
coat embroidered with gold and an embroidered 
mantle of cloth of silver. He was covered with lace 
and wore ribbons in his shoes and a plumed hat. 
Marie Adelaide’s dress was cloth of silver, and her 
jewels were rubies and pearls. 

For two years longer, they lived as children, con¬ 
tinuing their education and only meeting occasionally. 
In 1699, when Marie Adelaide was fourteen, they 
began life together and had special apartments assigned 
to them both at Fontainebleau and Versailles. 

The coming of Marie Adelaide is interesting for one 
special reason. Nothing that had happened for years 
made such a difference to the King, to Madame de 
Maintenon, and to the whole Court. An enchanting 
child, gay, irresponsible, fearless, she was utterly 
unlike any other Dauphine. She did not creep upon 
the scene, a bewildered stranger, confused and appre¬ 
hensive, to pass into a nonentity as soon as the mar¬ 
riage festivities were over. Marie Adelaide arrived 
like a little whirlwind, creating a stir and storm when¬ 
ever she appeared. From the moment the King 
saw her, he fell a victim to her fascinating personality. 
But she was not satisfied with a single conquest. 


188 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


She must win all hearts, and be first in the good graces 
of great and small alike. 

The Court, once brilliant, reckless, and profligate, 
had changed utterly in character since Madame de 
Maintenon had assumed the chief control. The 
royal surroundings were now grave, well-regulated, 
sober, and extremely dull. Marie Adelaide hated 
dullness with all her childish soul. She never rested 
till some at least of the old glories were restored. 
Madame de Maintenon, regretting the child’s neglected 
education, for she could hardly read and write, used 
to take her to St. Cyr, the school she herself had 
founded for girls of gentle birth. Marie Adelaide 
was interested at first, but she was too young to realize 
the depths of her own ignorance. She soon tired of 
lessons, and the King would not have her troubled. 
To amuse her he gave her a menagerie at Versailles, 
and a little carriage of her own that she might follow 
him to the hunt. 

“ The King,” says a letter of the day, " wishes 
that Madame la duchesse de Bourgogne should do as 
she likes from morning until night. . . . There are 
now only journeys to Marly, to Meudon, going to and 
fro to Paris for operas, balls, and masquerades.” 

Certainly the little duchesse had an insatiable 
appetite for pleasure, coupled with sound health and 
unflagging energy. Every one round her was worn 
out, but she never knew what fatigue meant. As time 
went on she acquired a taste for gambling. Sometimes 
it was necessary to scold her. When this duty was 
thrust upon the King, Marie Adelaide showed herself 
in her most enchanting mood—tender, sorrowful, 
contrite, a small depressed, helpless creature, humbly 
and tearfully waiting for pardon. The King always 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


189 


failed to keep up the required measure of stern re¬ 
proof, and ended by comforting and coaxing her into 
happiness and high spirits again. 

It may be imagined how easily this charming child 
held empire over the heart of her husband, Louis de 
France. Grave, studious, chivalrous, his deeper nature 
enfolded hers, with all her delicious follies, her sweet 
wilfulness, her loving simplicity, and he never ceased to 
find all his happiness in calling the radiant creature 
his own. These must have been the best years of his 
short life, when he was still a boy with his child-wife, and 
his brothers, loyally devoted, were his close comrades. 

Boyhood, and the brothers’ daily life together, came 
to an end in 1700. Charles II of Spain made a will 
in October 1700, bequeathing the crown of Spain to v 
Philippe, due d’Anjou. Louis XIV accepted the crown 
on behalf of his grandson. Philippe was silent and 
reserved as ever when he knew of the prospect. All the 
Court assembled to do him homage and to meet the 
Spanish Ambassadors. The newly chosen King did not 
even understand Spanish. Louis XIV was, as usual, 
the central figure of the whole ceremony. Addressing 
the assembly, he said, “ Gentlemen, here is the King of 
Spain. His birth has called him to that crown. The 
nation has desired him, and asked him from me, and 
I have granted their wish with pleasure. This is the 
will of Heaven.” Then he said to Philippe, "Be a 
good Spaniard; that is now your first duty; but do 
not forget that you were born a Frenchman, and 
preserve the alliance between the two nations. That 
is the way to render them happy and to preserve the 
peace of Europe.” The Spanish Ambassador then 
made the historic remark about the Pyrenees existing 
no longer—an announcement soon to be discounted. 


190 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


After all the solemnities, it is good to know that the 
new King spent his evening in the apartments of 
Madame de Maintenon, romping with his two brothers. 
In December 1700, Philip V, King of Spain, rode away 
from Versailles with the royal family. Large crowds 
gathered all the way to Sceaux, where he finally 
parted with his relations. This was the cause of a 
depressing scene. The three boys felt the separation 
bitterly. Madame has left a description of the event. 
“ Everybody was in tears, the Dauphin w r as terribly 
touched, and embraced his son with such tenderness 
that I was afraid they would die of grief. The King 
. . . cried so bitterly that he was unable to speak. 
‘ Taut pis ,’ said the King of Spain, when they told 
him that everything was ready. Nothing was seen 
but pocket-handkerchiefs and red eyes: men and 
women sobbed aloud.’’ 

Before long this kingly election had the effect of 
throwing Europe into the maze of the war of the 
Spanish Succession, which was to prove disastrous to 
France, and was to bring down Le Grand Monarque 
from his imperial heights. 

France was not in a position to undertake another 
great war. The country was desperately poor, the 
peasantry were starving, trade was losing ground, and 
there was no great statesman, or great general, to seize 
the helm of state. But Louis desired to recover the 
glory of the great days. So the desperate European 
struggle began against the encroachments of French 
power, and for the rest of the reign war never ceased. 
The battles in Flanders made Marlborough great, and 
immensely reduced the prestige of France. Disaster 
followed disaster. 

Life at Versailles remained the same, remote, with- 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


191 


drawn from the common interests, a little austere, 
filled with laborious and planned ceremonial. All 
force, all vital impulse, was dying gradually in the 
artificial atmosphere. The only real living creative 
forces at Court were those that emanated from the 
eager pair, still hardly more than children, Louis de 
France and his wife Marie Adelaide. 

Their married life was an extremely happy one. 
The devotion of Louis to his wife was an annoyance 
in surroundings where such a thing as faithful love 
was a reproach or a jest. It was considered a weak¬ 
ness, even by Fenelon, who reproached his beloved 
“ Petit Prince ” for his absorption in domestic ties. 
But nothing could check the full tide of his passion. 
Moreover, as life’s responsibilities crowded upon him, 
he leaned on Marie Adelaide for guidance, preferred 
her advice, and yielded to her influence. 

When the due went away to the wars, he wrote his 
wife a series of letters almost childish in their expres¬ 
sion of devotion. He was twenty-one when he sent, 
from the camp at Salmbach, a missive stained with 
his own blood, with a drawing in blood of two burning 
hearts, bearing the legend “ Louis. Adelaide .” 

The first child 1 of the due and duchesse de Bour¬ 
gogne was born 25 June 1704. Louis XIV was sixty- 
six when he held in his arms his first royal great-grand¬ 
child, heir to his crown and his great kingdom. 

1 The following were the children of the due and duchesse de 
Bourgogne :— 

(1) Louis, due de Bretagne, born 25 June, 1704; died 13 
April, 1705. 

(2) Louis, due de Bretagne, born 8 January, 1707 ; died 
8 March 1712. 

(3) Louis XV of France, born 15 February, 1710 ; died 10 
May, 1774. 


192 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


A great fete was held at Marly, and the King loaded 
Marie Adelaide with splendid gifts. The people of Paris 
indulged in scenes of frantic enthusiasm. A great 
deal of money was spent that was badly needed for 
the war, which was proceeding ingloriously for France. 

In the isolation of Versailles, the King could not 
guess the temper of the people. All went on at Court 
as if the honour of France was not in the balance. The 
baby was a subject of paramount importance. The 
boy lived only nine months. He never received the 
public ceremonial of baptism, and lived and died with¬ 
out a name, being known simply as the due de Bretagne. 
He died 13 April 1705, to the despair of the young 
parents. 

Another boy was born 8 January 1707 and was 
christened Louis. No expensive rejoicings were held. 
The exchequer was nearly empty. A letter written 
by the young mother when he was two months old, 
shows how pathetically, in those days of infant 
mortality, even love must be restrained. 

“ I should not be surprised if, a few months hence, 
he became pretty. I don’t know whether it is that I 
am beginning to grow blind as far as he is concerned 
and deceive myself with hope. But I believe that I 
shall never be blind about my children, and that the 
love I have for them will make me see their defects 
and so try in good season to correct them. I go to see 
my son very seldom, in order that I should not grow 
too attached to him ; also that I may note the changes 
in him. He is not old enough to play with as yet, 
and as long as I know he is in good health, I am 
satisfied.” 

Marie Adelaide was not destined to suffer the loss 
of this boy. He lived five years, outlived her for three 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


193 


weeks, and was the last victim of the tragic harvest 
of death at Versailles in 1712. 

The third child of France was born 14 May, 1710. 
He also bore the name of Louis. The youngest of the 
family, he was fated to succeed to the throne of France 
as Louis XV. 

History shows no picture of the life of the two 
little sons of France in their nursery or school days. 
Contemporary records are full of the thunder of the 
great wars, or of the Court intrigues, and the more 
disastrous military quarrels that never ceased to hold 
the chief place in the drama. 

Marie Adelaide fulfilled a difficult duty both as 
wife and mother, but imagination gives her a place, 
not in these relationships, but always at the side of 
Louis XIV and Madame de Maintenon. Her claim 
to immortal remembrance lies in the fact that she 
brought a flood of love and tender sympathy to inspire 
the last sad years of a great king who had seen affec¬ 
tion and glory recede from him like a tide. She made 
life a little easier for a patient and dutiful woman, 
very tired and old, who turned to the shelter of her 
love, in the closing years of a life of strenuous endeavour. 
With all her thoughtlessness, her wayward charm, 
her generous sympathies, the power of her spirit to 
rise nobly in the endurance of bitter sorrows, the figure 
of Marie Adelaide remains one of the most appealing 
in history. 

As in childhood and youth, and in the magnificence 
of his manhood, Louis XIV in old age fills the picture 
and eclipses all others. 

Once, strong in mind and body, he had wielded an 
immense power. He had held the issues of life and 
death, of war and peace. He had controlled not only 

13 


194 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


the destinies of nations, but, with equal tenacity, the 
innermost details of life in those around him. Nothing 
had been too great, and nothing too small to be bent 
to submission by the master hand and brain. Sorrows 
had always lain thickly about his path, and the story 
of his private life is one of unending bereavement. 
All friends of his own generation had dropped away 
long ago, and long ago too he had lost the faces of his 
little children. His later years brought loss upon loss. 
Whole groups of sons, daughters, and grandchildren 
went into the darkness. Women who had loved him, 
men who had fought for him, genius which had burned 
to enrich his reign—he saw them all go. These were 
personal griefs to be endured. But the glory of 
France, his chief aim and his supreme reward, had 
maintained its steady fire. Now the shadows had 
crept there too ; the flame was dying down. Victory 
no longer attended his arms. 

No one could dispel the cloud of depression that 
hung over the Court at Versailles and Marly. Madame 
de Maintenon for years passed her time in struggling 
against the dead level of dullness, a weight which 
seemed to crush all vital force in the King. He had the 
Bourbon faculty for being bored. But now she was 
old herself, and had for so many years borne the 
burden of guiding Louis in safe paths, and at the same 
time keeping him amused and occupied, that a great 
fatigue overpowered her. Louis would do nothing 
without her, and with him she must never be an old 
lady, but always a power and an influence, in mind 
and body alert and responsive. .She scarcely ever had 
an hour to herself. 

Louis survived every one of his royal children. In 
1711 his only son, Monseigneur the Dauphin, died 



LOUIS XIV, THE DAUPHIN, THE DUC DE BOURGOGNE, THE DUC D’ANJOU (AFTERWARDS LOUIS XV), 

AND MADAME DE MAINTENON 
Front the painting by Largilliere in the IVallace Collection 































' 










•« 





















CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


195 


suddenly of smallpox at Meudon. Then all the King’s 
thoughts and hopes turned to his well-loved grandson, 
the due de Bourgogne, now the next heir of France, 
and above all to the Dauphine, the supremely cherished 
Marie Adelaide. As the long cold night of old age 
settled upon his spirit, he clung more and more to her 
society—letting her wild enchanting ways divert his 
mind for a moment from the weight of his sorrows. 

It was just this last link with youth and lightness of 
heart, this last glimpse of the sunlit heights of life, which 
he was called upon to forego. 

Ten months after the loss of his only son, the old 
King was again face to face with death. 

In February, 1712, at Versailles, the Dauphine was 
seized by a sudden fever, which in a few hours de¬ 
veloped into a malignant form of measles. The 
doctors, alarmed by the knowledge that five hundred 
victims were dying monthly in Paris of the same 
illness, brought all the resources of their science to 
bear—that is to say, they gave opiates, made her 
smoke, and bled her repeatedly. In two days she was 
in extremis. Frantic with grief, her young husband, 
himself infected with the dread complaint, was soon 
obliged to leave her bedside. 

The King, stricken to the soul, remained by the 
Dauphine’s dying bed. She was now beyond help, and 
on the fourth day she died. 

Her husband was already in high fever. He lived 
just six days after the death of his wife. 

Stupefied and bewildered, the great King saw his 
family going before him to the grave. It was im¬ 
possible to realize what was happening. His race, his 
dynasty, was about to suffer extinction. Surely the 
last depth of misery was touched. The lives of two 



196 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


very little and very delicate children alone interposed, 
—one, the little due de Bretagne, now Dauphin, five 
years old, and the other a sickly baby, the little Louis, 
due d’Anjou, just two. 

Under the date of 7 March, 1712, the diarist Dangeau 
writes : “ The new Dauphin is very ill, it is thought 
with the measles. The due d’Anjou has the measles 
also. As these two princes are seriously ill, the King 
has had them baptized. . . . They were, by the 
King’s desire, both named Louis. 

“ 8th, Versailles.—As soon as the King awoke, he 
was informed that the Dauphin and his brother were 
growing much worse. In addition to the Court 
physicians, five of distinguished eminence have been 
sent for from Paris. 

" A little before midnight, the Dauphin died. He 
was a very promising prince (though only five years 
old) and well proportioned. Thus has death carried 
off within a year three Dauphins, grandfather, father, 
and grandson, and a Dauphiness. . . . The due d’Anjou 
is better, and hopes are entertained of his recovery. 

“ 17th.—All the women who belonged to the estab¬ 
lishment of the Dauphin of Bretagne, are to be removed 
into that of his brother, who will then have thirty-two 
female attendants. This prince now enjoys good 
health.” 

The tiny flickering flame of life was fanned by his 
governess, Madame de Ventadour, who rebelled 
against the prescriptions of the Court doctors, took her 
own measures, and brought the child safely through 
the illness that had so nearly proved mortal. 

The infant Dauphin Louis was now the one frail link 
that offered to Le Roi Soleil any chance of a direct 
successor to the throne. Thus, as the great reign draws 


CHILDREN OF VERSAILLES 


197 


to a close, the two figures are left alone in the picture,' 
each in pathetic isolation. The great King in his 
sombre old age, bowed with the weight of his years and 
his sorrows, setting his last wistful hopes on so frail 
an existence ; and the great-grandson, more terribly 
alone than any little outcast child in all the kingdom, 
about to set forth on the career that held so many 
dazzling possibilities never to be fulfilled. 

For weeks the King had known he was dying, and, 
with his old dignity and majesty, bade the doctors 
let him die in peace. 

Some days before his death, the little child of 
five years old stood beside his bed. So, in the 
dim mists of his far-off childhood, Louis remembered 
standing by the death-bed of his own father. He, too, 
was a king at five years old. The fear and the desola¬ 
tion, the solitude, the difficulties, the mistakes rushed 
back upon his recollection. The long years melted 
away with all their illusive glories, their disasters, 
their empty pleasures. The dying eyes, bent upon 
the earnest face of the beautiful child, saw anew all 
the promise, the golden flood of hope that once was his. 

The words he spoke to the little Louis, wise and noble, 
echo down the centuries, charged with a note of deep 
and tender human feeling. 

“ Darling, you are going to be a great king, but all 
your happiness will depend on submission to God, and 
on the pains you take to help your people. In order to 
do that, you must avoid war as far as possible ; it is 
the ruin of nations. Do not follow the bad example 
I have given you in that. I often undertook war 
too lightly, and pursued it from vanity. Do not 
imitate me in that, or in my taste for building, but 
reign peacefully, and let your chief care be to help 


198 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


your subjects. Profit by the good education you are 
receiving from Madame la duchesse de Ventadour 
Obey her, and follow the good feelings she has in¬ 
spired/’ 

He kissed the little Dauphin twice, and gave him his 
blessing. The little boy left the room in tears. 

The King had resigned life. He spoke of the 
Dauphin as “ the young King” and was heard to use 
the expression, “ when I was King” To the last, he 
wanted only the companionship of Madame de 
Maintenon. Utterly worn out, she left him when the 
final unconsciousness set in, retreating to her sanctuary 
of St. Cyr. Only his servants were with him at 
the last. 

The great King died on Sunday, i September, 1715. 
“ He gave up his soul without any effort, as a candle 
that goes out.” 


CHAPTER XII 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XV 

L OUIS XIV had expressed a wish that immediately 
after his death, his great-grandson, the new King, 
should be taken away from Versailles to the fortress of 
Vincennes. 

On the day that the body of the King was taken, 
with very little pomp and ceremony, to its resting- 
place at St. Denis, the child Louis XV was accordingly 
removed to Vincennes. 

The first four months of the reign were passed there. 
The King was then removed to the palace of the 
Tuileries, where he remained till June, 1722, when the 
Court was transferred to Versailles. The marechal de 
Villeroy was his governor and Madame de Ventadour 
his governess. 

Devoted in every word and deed to the child, these 
two attendants never let him out of their sight till he 
was seven years old. He was surrounded by the most 
loving and tender care. The people of Paris adored 
him. In these innocent days he might well have 
claimed his title of later years, “ Bien-Aime,” when, 
dressed in white in honour of the Blessed Virgin, his 
fragile little figure was daily visible, playing in the 
gardens of the Tuileries, or passing in his coach about 
the narrow and tortuous streets of old Paris. 

199 


200 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Often he was taken to St. Cyr to visit Madame de 
Maintenon. His earliest recollections would be of the 
holy calm of this retreat, and of the joy he brought into 
the life of a very old lady who received him there. 
When he was seven, and Madame de Ventadour handed 
him over to the care of tutors and governors, she 
sent his last white child’s dress to be consecrated for 
the Virgin’s shrine at St. Cyr. 

As a child, the King had no taste for pageant and 
display. He liked the small details of life. 

Madame de Ventadour, in a letter to Madame de 
Maintenon, describes how, after some fatiguing cere¬ 
mony, which did not in the least interest him, Louis 
“fit ensuite son potage lui-meme, et trouva du soulage - 
ment a ne plus faire le roi .” 

He had moods, she added, even in the cradle, a sad 
air, a need of awakening, and was without natural 
gaiety. His happiest days were those which he spent 
in the park of La Muette, playing with dairy utensils 
and a miniature cow, which one of the ladies of the 
Court had given him. He showed intense pleasure 
at a gift sent him by his grandfather, the King of 
Sardinia, of a pickaxe and some little dogs trained to 
hunt for truffles. 

It seems to have been the policy of all his guardians 
to keep him as much of a baby as possible. He 
walked encumbered with leading-strings till he was 
seven, and wore an infant’s garment made of whale¬ 
bone, supposed to give support to the figure, till he 
was eleven. 

Dangeau has left a description of the parting of 
Louis with Madame de Ventadour. 

“ 15th February 1717. Paris. The King rose in 
the morning in pretty good spirits ; but when the due 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XV 


201 


d’Orleans arrived, and Madame de Ventadour resigned 
to him the precious charge that had been entrusted 
to her, and kissed the King’s hand on taking leave of 
him, he threw his arms round her neck, and embraced 
her tenderly, bursting into tears. Madame de Venta¬ 
dour said to him, ‘ But, Sire, we must listen to reason.’ 
‘ Ah, mamma, ’ he replied, ‘ I cannot attend to reason 
>vhen I must part with you.’ . . . The King would 
take no dinner and was in very low spirits the whole 
of the day.” 

His new tutor was Cardinal Fleury, whose humour 
pleased and distracted his many idle moments. The 
boy was thought too delicate for a solid education. 
He received no training in application, and naturally 
never learnt it in after life. 

Peter the Great, Tsar of Russia, came on a visit 
to Paris when Louis was seven. It was a strange 
meeting between the two kings, one the tyrant of the 
great, rough, half-barbaric and unexplored northern 
realm, and the other representative of the most highly 
civilized, luxurious, and advanced society then known 
to the world. For a moment they are seen together, 
the colossal figure of the Russian, with his savage air, 
his tawny skin, his sudden, loud, roaring laughter, and 
the voice that always sounded angry, contrasted with 
the delicate form of the beautiful child. There was 
something uncouth yet majestic in the Tsar’s impulsive 
greeting. Brushing aside the ceremonious suggestions 
of courtiers, he raised the little Louis in his arms and 
kissed him heartily. 

“ Sire, you are commencing your reign, and I am 
completing mine ; I hope you will favour my successor 
with your friendship ? ” 

“ Are you so old already, Sire ? ” replied the King; 


202 CHILDREN OF FRANCE 

“ wait until your hair is as white as was my grand¬ 
father’s.” 

“ Alas, I fear I have not time to complete my work. 
As for you, Sire, I predict that you will surpass your 
grandsire in wisdom, glory, and power.” 

“ I hope but cannot believe it.” The quaint words 
come gravely from the childish lips that must have 
known already a careful training in the courtesies of 
speech. 

A clear vision of the boy is given in the memoirs of 
Cardinal Dubois. 

" The King is twelve years old : he is of amazing 
beauty. I do not know a more charming child. His 
large black eyes, with their long, curled lashes, have 
what one might call a fine outlook. ... He displays his 
little figure when he walks with quite a royal air, and 
he knows what respect is better than any grand master 
of ceremonies. What is remarkable, however, in a 
child who is at least as egotistical as all children, is that 
he is affable and polite with every one, and his fits of 
naughtiness are not frequent. ... He is very proud 
of his person, and when he can call attention to his 
pretty feet and hands, he is like a peacock spreading 
his tail. As for wits, he has quite as much as a king 
need have, which is mighty little.” 

The duchesse d’Orleans (mother of the Regent) 
gives another vivid picture. 

" It is impossible for any child to be more agreeable 
than our young King : he has large dark eyes and long 
crisp eyelashes ; a good complexion, a charming little 
mouth, long and thick dark brown hair, little red 
cheeks, a stout and well-formed body, and very pretty 
hands and feet : his gait is noble and lofty, and he puts 
on his hat exactly like the late King. The shape of his 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XV 


203 


face is neither too long nor too short; but the worst 
thing, and which he inherits from his mother, is that he 
changes colour very frequently. Sometimes he looks 
ill, but in half an hour his colour will have returned. 
His manners are easy, and it may be said without 
flattery that he dances very well. 1 He is quick and 
clever in all that he attempts ; he has already (1720) 
begun to shoot at pheasants and partridges, and has a 
great passion for shooting. He is as like his mother 
as one drop of water is to another; he has sense 
enough, and all that he seems to want is a little more 
affability. He is terribly haughty, and already knows 
what respect is. . . . His air is milder than his char¬ 
acter, for his little head is rather an obstinate and 
wilful one.” 

A certain number of boys of his own age were 
allowed to play with Louis in the terrace of the 
Tuileries gardens, where he had a miniature pavilion. 
An Order was made for the child, an oval enamelled 
plaque representing a star and the pavilion, hanging 
from a blue and white ribbon. This Order was an 
invention of his own, and he used to bestow it on his 
playfellows. 

Outdoor sports and occupations were not enough 
encouraged. 

At ten years old he was fond of playing cards from 
morning till night. He played for money, staking large 
sums. One day he played for so huge a sum that the 
chevalier de P ez 6 , who held the bank, after a moment’s 


1 The due de Richelieu says the King danced badly at his first 
ballet, and that he announced he meant to dance still worse, in 
order that he might not be made to dance at all. He was so wearied 
with learning and rehearsing the ballet that he took a dislike to 
all fetes and displays. 


204 


CHILDREN OP FRANCE 


hesitation, offered a remonstrance : “ Sire, do you wish 
to ruin me?" The child, whose temper rose at a 
moment’s opposition, boxed the Chevalier’s ears. 
He could not be induced to express regret or to 
apologize. 

** The Parisians,” wrote the due de Richelieu, “ love 
the little King. II est joli comme VAmour; il est 
content des applaudissements; il en rit beaucoup; il 
y repond avec grace. He fell dangerously ill. The 
Spanish Court packed up to come and reign. But he 
soon got well. Then, to annoy the Regent, the women 
of the markets and the orange sellers came to the 
Palais Royal with branches of trees, then entered 
the courtyard, crying, * Vive le Roi ! ’ and dancing. In 
all the streets refreshments were offered, and wine was 
given to passers-by, and every one danced to celebrate 
the return of the King’s health. 

" On Sunday the King went to Notre-Dame to Mass 
to thank God for his recovery.” 

Massillon was his religious instructor. He found 
the young King an apt pupil in matters of faith and 
ritual. He was of a devout and serious nature. 

“ 1720. 13 April. Paris. The King went, after 

dinner, to hawk in the park of Vincennes: in re¬ 
turning he met, in the rue St. Antoine, the Holy 
Sacrament, which was on its way to a sick person. 
He stopped his carriage, alighted, and knelt down in 
the street, although it was very dirty. This greatly 
edified all who saw him. He would have attended 
the Holy Sacrament to the home of the sick person, 
but for the fear there was of impure air.” 

In the pages of history the personality of the boy 
Louis falls into the background. The fortunes of 
France hung upon the engrossing affairs of the Regency. 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XV 


205 


While life was passing quietly and happily at the 
Tuileries, a constant struggle for place and power 
went forward on all sides. 

Henceforth for eight years, till the King came of 
age, the figure of the Regent dominates the history of 
France. 

The Regent held his Court at the Palais Royal. 
Its doings, painted in lurid colours, have come down 
to us in the pictures of countless historians. Philippe 
d’Orleans, as the centre of interest, with his pleasant, 
cordial manners, his easy lack of moral sense, his 
encouragement of excess, was exactly suited to the 
temper of the hour. 

Before he was twelve years old, the King was 
betrothed to the Infanta of Spain, the eldest daughter 
of his uncle, Philip V. The bride, Ana Maria Victoria, 
was three years old. The plan suited the ambitions 
of the Regent, who was the next heir to the throne of 
France, for such a marriage for Louis meant that, 
for many years, no Dauphin could be born. Meantime 
only the frail life of a delicate boy stood between him¬ 
self and the prospect of a throne. 

The negotiations for the marriage were conducted 
by Dubois. The King’s consent was asked at a council 
meeting in September, 1721. Tears and silence were 
his reply. “ Allons, mon mattre ,” urged Villeroy, “ il 
faut faire la chose de bonne grace .” Still there was no 
reply. Not until Fleury had whispered to him for a 
full quarter of an hour was a simple “ yes ” extracted 
from the reserved and sensitive boy. 

The affair had been very badly explained to him, 
for the poor child was under the impression that the 
full duties and responsibilities of marriage were to 
begin at once. No wonder he maintained a silent 


206 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


protest against the idea of a helpmeet and companion 
of three years old. When he understood, he saw the 
humour of the situation. He said to one of his 
courtiers, who came to announce his own approaching 
marriage : “ Je suis plus avance que vous, j’ai une 
femme et meme un enfant .” 

A distinguished company, which included the due 
de St. Simon and Madame de Ventadour, was sent to 
Madrid from Paris to fetch the little Infanta. 

Treated already as Queen of France, the child 
Princess had been worshipped at the Spanish Court, 
especially by her parents, who were immensely proud 
of the pretty, clever child. When the moment came 
for parting with her, King Philippe and the Queen 
wished to go with her to the gates of the palace. 
Strength and resolution failed them. The Princess 
was lifted from their arms. 

In a letter from Cardinal Dubois to Spain, dated 
March, 1722, after he had carried away the little bride, 
he writes: “ The Queen Infanta made the two Prin¬ 
cesses, de Beaujolais and de Chartres (daughters of the 
Regent), dance before her, and treated them as children 
younger than herself, although they are double her 
age, asking them from time to time if they were tired, 
and holding them by their leading-strings in case they 
should fall. She kissed them tenderly when they 
went away, and said, ‘ Little Princesses, go to your 
homes, and come to see me every day.’ ” 

The preparations in Paris for the reception of the 
little Infanta were on a magnificent scale, involving 
enormous cost. A French writer says : “ Is it not 

impertinent to make such preparation for a child 
of three years and ten months, as also to arrange 
a marriage for the King before he is of an age to con- 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XV 


207 


sent ? . . . The Regent went to see her. They say 
she is rather pretty than ugly, that she is small for 
her age, but has an infinite amount of wit and vivacity. 
The Infanta has brought with her a Spanish woman 
who was her remucuse , and without whom she refuses 
to walk.” 

The poor little bride was called " the Queen,” a 
position she was never to attain. 

The Queen Infanta entered Paris with four com¬ 
panies of gardes du corps dragoons. The King 
waited for her at Bourg-la-Reine and embraced her, 
but did not say one word; he came back to Paris 
and received her at the Louvre, always without saying 
a word. The small Infanta observed that the King was 
handsome, but that he spoke no more than her doll. 

The baby girl of three sat on the knee of the duchesse 
de Ventadour, and clung to her doll. Louis gave the 
marriage present next day, another doll, which cost 
twenty thousand livres. 

There was a great ball at the Hotel de ville in 
Paris. It is good to know that the King, having 
opened the revels, retired before ten o’clock. It is 
to be hoped that the bride long before that time was 
safely asleep in the care of her' remueuse, for the 
ball was the scene of disgraceful disorders. Louis felt 
no interest in his baby-bride and hated the wedding 
fetes. Everything bored the poor child. 

There are glimpses here and there of the character 
of the little Infanta. In the year 1724 she caught 
measles, in those days a malignant disease. The 
doctors wished to bleed her, but the child resisted so 
firmly that a ruse was necessary. First a man dressed 
as a Spaniard was brought into her room, pretending 
that he brought orders for the operation from her 


208 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


parents, the King and Queen of Spain. The Infanta 
defied him. Then an officer of the body-guard came 
in, bringing four men with shouldered muskets. The 
Infanta was told that this threatening band was sent 
by her betrothed husband, Louis, who had ordered 
that she should be bled. To this show of force she 
submitted at last. 

The King’s coronation was held at Reims, 25 Octo¬ 
ber, 1722. Sixty-eight years had passed since the last 
coronation. The scene was one of great splendour. 
All the old ritual was renewed. 

Dubois and his friends could not save the young 
King the long and painful fatigue of “ touching for 
the King’s Evil.” Several thousands of sick persons 
assembled—two lines, immensely long, of kneeling 
figures. 

It had been an immemorial custom at the corona¬ 
tion of the French Kings to set free thousands of birds 
from cages, and this beautiful little ceremony was 
duly observed among other ancient rites. 

On the morning of the day after the King’s thirteenth 
birthday, the Regent attended the King’s awaking. 
He told him that he placed the affairs of state in his 
hands; that there was peace at home and abroad, 
and that the King’s power was absolute. Louis made 
no reply; he seldom answered anybody. He was 
thoughtful, but afterwards, when he rose, he was 
unusually gay and happy. While dressing, he was 
attacked by a flea. Fleury said, “ Sire, you are of 
age; you can order his punishment.” " Let him be 
hanged,” said Louis, replying in the same vein of 
humour. Historians have solemnly recorded this 
story as evidence of the inherent cruelty and tyranny 
of his nature ! 



LOUIS XV AS A CHILD 
From the painting by Riga ltd at Versailles 











CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XV 


209 


All the world thought that the King had a hard and 
cold temperament. It should be remembered that 
he was warmly faithful to the two best influences he 
had known. He always loved Madame de Ventadour 
and Cardinal Fleury. 

Political plot and counterplot, virulent hatreds 
and jealousies, went on all through the King’s minority. 
Various Princes of the Blood resented the fact that, 
should the King die without heirs, nothing could pre¬ 
vent the due d’Orleans from becoming King of France. 
Under these circumstances it was determined that 
the little Infanta should go back to Spain, and a wife 
of more suitable age be forced upon Louis, in order 
that an heir might put an end to the Orleans preten¬ 
sions. The marriage with the Infanta was a disaster 
for the realm. The little girl was now six. A solemn 
promise had been made to Spain that the actual 
betrothal, a binding ceremony, should be accom¬ 
plished when she was seven. It would then be too 
late to retreat with any vestige of honour. 

It was decided to send the Infanta back to her 
parents at once. The child was told that her father 
wished to see her, and no doubt set forth joyfully 
enough. The King, who had always maintained 
perfect indifference in the matter, did not even say 
good-bye, for he was away hunting at Marly when she 
left Versailles. 

The indignation in Spain was so unbounded that a 
general massacre of the French in Madrid was feared, 
and the countries hung perilously for a while on the 
verge of war. The marquis de Santa Cruz was sent 
to meet the little rejected bride, with an escort of 
four hundred persons. On arriving at Madrid, by 
way of soothing the popular resentment, he exhibited 
i4 


210 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


a piece of black bread, as a sample of the food upon 
which the royal child had been nourished at the 
French Court ! 

With the disappearance of the little Infanta from 
Versailles in 1724, the child-life of the palace came to 
an end. It was necessary that the King be married 
without delay. 

There were eighty-nine marriageable princesses in 
Europe : twenty-five Catholics, three Anglicans, 
thirteen Calvinists, fifty-five Lutherans, and three 
Greeks. This number was reduced to a short leet of 
twenty-seven, and amongst these a bride must be 
found. 

A marriage with an English princess caught the 
imagination of the due de Bourbon. So powerful a 
threat to Spain appealed to all French politicians. A 
portrait of the young King was sent to England, so 
beautiful that it caused a sensation at the Court there. 
King George and his Ministers, quite unmoved by 
sentiment, refused the match. “ How could we hope,” 
wrote de Noailles, “ that the English would send to 
the arms of a king of France, a princess who, by their 
British Constitution, was not excluded from inheriting 
the throne of England ? ” 

Failing the English match, a bride was sought for 
the King who had no threat at her call. What was 
wanted was found in the daughter of Stanislas, a 
dethroned King of Poland. 

H Marie Leczinska, absolutely without political im¬ 
portance, was simple, pure, studious, interested in 
domestic duties, and fond of church embroidery. 
“ Je conviens qu’elle est laide ,” wrote the due d’Autin ; 
“ mais elle me plait au dela de tout ce que je peux vous 
exprimer. She was seven years older than Louis. 


CHILDHOOD OF LOUIS XV 


211 


A woman of sympathy and good sense, she lacked only 
what were, in those days, the essentials of success, 
beauty and charm. The marriage, so disastrous to 
her happiness, was celebrated in 1725, when the King 
was fifteen. He was nervous and timid in the presence 
of women, and is said to have rarely spoken to the 
Queen. At the same time, he showed, in these early 
days, a certain loyalty towards her. If the beauty of 
any woman was praised in his presence, he always 
murmured, " She is not so handsome as the Queen.” 

The first years of his marriage were the happiest 
that Louis was to know. The silent, suspicious child 
was clever enough to realize that, in spite of his great 
name, he had no vestige of power, and that he was not 
strong enough to fight his battle for independence. 
He leaned on Fleury, whose personal influence was 
good. He accepted life with the Queen in a spirit of 
duty, and there, with a stronger or cleverer woman, 
he might have found lasting happiness. 

But the men and women who composed his Court 
wished for nothing so dreary as a king devoted to 
duty and absorbed in domestic life. Through all his 
childhood the worst of men, and the worst of women, 
waited for him, ready for the development of 
mind and body that should make him their prey. 
The Regency had left behind it a loosening of all 
moral fibre. To be popular, to be in the swim, to 
have any claim to the distinction of fashionable life, 
men and women alike must^disregard the accepted 
standards of decent living. How could they endure 
to serve a king who conformed to higher ideals of his 
own ? 

Surrounded by such influences, the spirit of the 
young King succumbed at last. After years of fidelity 


212 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


to the Queen, who was devout, rigid, and dull, he fell 
under the influence of the sisters de Nesles, Mesdames 
de Mailly, de Vintimille, de Lauraguais, and la 
Chateauroux. 

The years of good behaviour had been idle years. 
Hard work might even now have saved him. But he 
was shut out from responsibilities of state. Discour¬ 
aged by Fleury from any effort to play his part, he 
became more and more a stranger to the affairs of his 
realm. Nothing had any hold upon his character. 
His standards and ideals went down into the dust. 
The Court resumed the shameless ways of the 
Regency. 


CHAPTER XIII 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 

C ARDINAL FLEURY was practically master of 
France. Louis XV was a spoilt child, indolent, 
badly trained, hating business, seeking only to keep 
at bay the depression that belonged by heredity to 
his Bourbon blood. His deep distaste for business 
and affairs of state exactly suited the plans of the 
Cardinal. There would be no inconvenient assump¬ 
tion of power, no awakening in his dulled soul of the 
vital spirit of the boy Louis XIV. 

A husband at fifteen, Louis XV was only seventeen 
when, on 14 August, 1727, his first children were born, 
the twin daughters who remained always his favourites 
among his large family. 1 * * * * * 7 Ten sons and daughters 

1 The following were the children of Louis XV and Marie Leczin- 
ska :— 

(1) Louise Elisabeth, bom 14 August, 1727 ; married 1739, 
Philippe, son of Philip V of Spain; died at Versailles, 6 
December, 1759. 

(2) Anne Henriette, twin with above; died 10 February, 1752. 

(3) Louise Marie, born 28 July, 1728; died 19 February, 1733. 

(4) Louis, born 4 September, 1729; married first, 1745, Marie 
Thdrese, daughter of Philip V of Spain, who died 1746 ; second, 
1747, Marie Josephe de Saxe, daughter of the Elector of Saxony; 
died at Fontainebleau, 20 December, 1765. 

(5) Philippe, due d’Anjou, born 30 August, 1730; died 

7 April, 1733. 


2x3 


214 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


came to fill the long galleries and formal gardens of 
Versailles with sound of laughter and flying feet. 

There was deep disappointment at Versailles and 
in the country over the sex of the first children. Within 
a year another daughter was born, Louise Marie, 
and the poor Queen, overpowered with a sense of 
failure, went for the first time to Notre-Dame, at 
Paris, to ask the Virgin for a son. By way of humilia¬ 
tion she wore no trimming on her flesh-coloured Court 
dress. It is a little difficult to follow her reasons for 
wearing a mass of diamonds on the same occasion. 
In September of the next year the much-desired 
boy was born, Louis the Dauphin, who was never 
to ascend the throne of France. Sixty-eight years had 
passed since the birth of a Dauphin, and all France 
exulted. Another son was born in less than a year. 
He died at two years old. Five more daughters followed 
in quick succession—Adelaide, Victoire, Sophie, Felicite, 
and a second Louise Marie. 

These poor children were from the beginning the 
victims of ceremonial. Eight femmes de chambre 
waited on each little girl, and forty attendants fol¬ 
lowed them even when they passed from room to room. 

The princesses, whose public baptism was long 
delayed, were known simply by number, “ Madame 
Premiere,” “ Madame Seconde,” and so on. Very 
little individuality attaches to their memory. They 

(6) Marie Adelaide, born 23 March, 1732 ; died at Trieste, 
March, 1800. 

(7) Victoire Louise Marie Thdrese, born n May, 1733 ; died 
at Trieste, 7 June, 1799. 

(8) Sophie Philippine Elisabeth Justine, born 17 July, 1734 ; 
died 3 March, 1782. 

(9) Thdrese Felicity, born 16 May, 1736 ; died 1744. 

(10) Louise Marie, born 5 July, 1737 ; died 23 December, 1787. 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


215 


are grey shadows, flitting here and there in sombre 
guise among the brilliant figures and great names of 
history. 

Faithful to his old friend, the King appointed 
Madame de Ventadour, the chere maman of his boy¬ 
hood, as governess to the Children of France. She 
was an old lady now, and the practical duties of the 
post were carried out by her granddaughter, the 
duchesse de Tallard. The organization of a decent 
education for the bevy of little girls was evidently 
not included in these duties. They were allowed to 
grow up in great ignorance. Rules of etiquette, a 
knowledge of precedence, the correct manners at 
Court ceremonies, were more considered than any¬ 
thing else. As time went on these details assumed 
an undue proportion in the thoughts of Queen Marie. 
The slave of etiquette, and of official duty, she seems 
to have enjoyed very little of domestic life with her 
children. 

One or two pictures of the royal group have been 
left by the diarists of the day. The due de Luynes 
records under the date 15 September, 1737: “The 
Queen was present at M. le Dauphin’s ball. Since 
the return of the Court from Fontainebleau there 
have always been two balls a week, on Thursday in 
Mesdames’ apartments, on Sunday in the Dauphin’s. 
The King and Queen were in their arm-chairs, with 
their backs to the window.” . . . First the Dauphin 
and Louise Elisabeth danced by themselves. “ Then 
the figure dances and quadrilles began ... in the 
first round of the minuets no one turned, but danced 
facing the King and Queen, with hat doffed.” At 
another ball de Luynes mentions that when the royal 
children danced figure dances and minuets, every one 


216 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


stood up, but that in the quadrilles, every one remained 
seated. It was the custom. 

There is a portrait of the twins, painted by Gobert 
about 1737, in dresses exactly alike. In feature they 
did not much resemble each other. Louise Elisabeth 
had strongly marked features and full lips, large eyes 
under thick eyebrows, and dark complexion. Henriette 
was much more attractive, slighter and fairer. Louise 
Marie, who never bore the title of troisieme, was 
the prettiest of the family. She died at four years 
old, passionately lamented by the King and Queen, 
who a few weeks later lost their second boy, the due 
d’Anjou. The death of the little girl is thus mentioned 
by a Court chronicler : “ This matter has little interest, 
and no mourning will be worn.” 

Madame Troisieme was Adelaide, who was destined 
to play a more important part than her sisters, for 
she managed to acquire influence over her father. 
She was distinguished by him by the affectionate 
nickname of Loque, or Tatters. As a child she showed 
far more character than any of her sisters. At eleven 
years old she was caught escaping from Versailles, 
scantily attired, with fourteen louis in her pocket, 
just going to mount a horse, and ride off to assume the 
role of Joan of Arc, “ to fight for Papa-roi, to beat the 
English, and take the King of England prisoner.” 
Here, however, her scheme deviated from those of 
Joan the Maid, for her idea was “ to invite the chiefs to 
share her couch, and to kill them one after the other.” 
She said she knew of a man who would go with her and 
serve her. It was the boy who attended to her donkeys. 

Victoire, the fifth daughter, was affectionately termed 
Coche, or Piggy, by her father. Sophie was Graille, or 
Mite. She was the least attractive of the King’s 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


217 


children. “ Madame Sophie,” says Madame de 
Campan, “ was remarkably ugly ; never did I behold 
a person with as revolting an appearance : she walked 
with the greatest rapidity ; and in order to recognize 
people without looking at them, she acquired the 
habit of leering on one side, like a hare.” Through 
life she remained a nonentity. She rarely spoke, 
but a thunderstorm frightened her so much that she 
became friendly and communicative with anyone who 
happened to be near. When the storm was over she 
froze again into a haughty silence. 

The seventh daughter, little Felicite, only lived 
seven years, and the eighth, Louise Marie, called by her 
father Chiffe , or Rag, became the saintly Sister Louise 
of the Carmelites. She was excessively intelligent and 
full of life and humour. In figure she was slightly de¬ 
formed, and her head was too large for her small body. 

Both the King and Queen would seem to have loved 
their children when they were little, therefore the 
arrangements made for their education were amazing. 
The extravagances of the Court, continued through so 
many generations, and the desperate condition of the 
working people, had made economy a pressing neces¬ 
sity. Casting about for some expense to be abolished, 
Fleury hit upon the idea of economizing in the affairs 
of the Children of France. Each little daughter was 
yearly costing the State forty thousand pounds. To 
abolish some of the perfectly useless and costly offices 
attached to their establishments, and to unite all 
the little ones in one household, would be to encroach 
upon the sacred customs of Court etiquette—a sacrifice 
not for a moment to be entertained. It was resolved 
instead to send the children away. The twins and 
Madame Adelaide were kept at Versailles, the rest were 


218 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


sent away to be brought up in a convent. Many 
stately abbeys within reach of Paris would doubtless 
have proudly received the charge, and it has never 
been explained why the group of royal children was 
remorselessly exiled to the Convent of Fontevralt—at a 
distance of eight leagues—an arrangement entailing a 
journey of thirteen days, and complete separation 
from their parents. The little girls were aged five, 
four, two, and one year. Eight carriages and twenty 
baggage wagons conveyed them and their belongings. 
They left Versailles, 16 June, 1738, and arrived twelve 
days later. The Abbess, Mile de Rochechouart, 
and the nuns, all dressed by order in white, so that 
their first appearance should not depress the new-comers, 
received them at the convent. Four little girls of the 
same ages as the princesses were provided as play¬ 
mates. Perhaps the change and excitement of the 
journey were welcome to the children, but what could 
have been the feelings of the mother, Queen Marie, 
who watched them all borne away ? One of the 
group, the infant Felicity, she never saw again, for 
she died in the convent and was buried there. The 
rest lived out their childhood within the walls. It is 
almost incredible that the royal parents neither went 
to visit these children, nor recalled them to Court for 
twelve years. They never once saw them during that 
time. 

The Abbey of Fontevralt was a great mass of build¬ 
ings surrounded by a wall. There were two monasteries, 
one for men and one for women. There was also a good 
house called Bourbon Lodge. This was put in repair, 
and luxuriously furnished, for the little daughters of 
France. 

The education given by the nuns at Fontevralt was 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


219 


very poor, and the life dreadfully dull. Louise could 
not read at twelve years old. The children were taught 
music and dancing, but no attempt was made to form 
their minds or fit them for life. A great deal of well- 
meant indulgence and kindness alternated with the 
most extraordinary severities. Victoire and Sophie 
suffered all their lives from nervous terrors, begun in 
the convent, when, for some offence, they were sent 
to say the prayers for the dying in a chapel near a 
madman’s house, whose shrieks and ravings they could 
hear. Again the trembling girls were ordered to say 
their evening prayers alone in the vaults where the 
nuns were buried. 

One story survives of Madame Victoire at Fonte- 
vralt. The dancing master taught the princesses a 
new dance, and informed them that it was called 
“ Le Menuet couleur de Rose ” Madame Victoire, 
either disliking the colour, or feeling in a wilful humour, 
said she did not approve of the name, and that it was 
to be called, “ Le Menuet Bleu .” The master objected, 
but Victoire held to her point, and declined to go 
on with the dance unless the name were altered. 
Neither would give way. The Abbess was called, who 
in her turn assembled the whole community, to decide 
on the merits of rose or bleu. Victoire triumphed, 
for the nuns agreed not to displease her. The master 
was instructed to call it “ Le Menuet Bleu,” and the 
dance went on. 

The King was dangerously ill in 1744, and his re¬ 
covery was celebrated with festivities at Fontevralt. 
Little Madame Septieme, who was eight years old, was 
not well, but bore up as well as she could in her natural 
anxiety to take part in the fete. No one had sufficient 
authority or firmness to send the ailing child to bed. 


220 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


She was sickening for smallpox, and in consequence 
of this neglect, only lived a few days. The seventh 
daughter of France was hastily baptized Felicite on 
her death-bed. 

A contemporary writes : “ The child retained con¬ 
sciousness, was very sweet, and kissed the crucifix 
frequently. At six in the evening coma set in, but 
passed at four in the morning enough to give a little 
hope. . . . She died shortly before noon.” A tiny 
atom of forgotten humanity, she lies in the sepulchre 
of the Plantagenets at Fontevralt, beside Richard, 
Cceur de Lion. Her death made no perceptible im¬ 
pression at Court. The mother did not go to the 
theatre or play cards for a few days. The King made 
no difference in his pursuits even for a day. 

The artist Nattier was sent to Fontevralt, in 1747, 
to paint the portraits of the three remaining children, 
which are now at Versailles. The King surprised the 
Queen with these portraits, which greatly delighted 
her. 

“ The two eldest are really beautiful,” she wrote, 
“ but I have never seen anything so charming as the 
little one ; she has the pathetic, very remote expression 
of melancholy. I have never seen a countenance so 
unique ; she is touching, gentle, spiritual.” 

About this time it occurred to the King that his 
younger children were growing up. In his devotion to 
Henriette and Adelaide, he had seemed almost to 
forget the little exiled group, but now the fifteen-year- 
old Madame Victoire was recalled, and in 1750, Sophie 
and Louise were also brought back to Versailles. 

The Court was scarcely the place for a group of 
young, ignorant girls, with no training but that of the 
cloister. 



MADAME LOUISE, DAUGHTER OF LOUIS XV 
From the fainting by Nattier at Versailles 



CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


221 


Madame de Pompadour ruled the King and the Court. 

Jeanne Poisson, born in 1721, was of undistinguished 
birth, but remarkable beauty and cleverness, a woman 
born to shine, not only by virtue of her looks, but by 
an array of commanding talents seldom united in one 
person. Her house in Paris was the rendezvous of all 
that was brilliant in literature, art, and music. 

The King first saw her at a ball given in honour of 
the marriage of his son the Dauphin in 1745. 

In a few months Jeanne was created marquise de 
Pompadour, and from thenceforward the history of 
the reign of Louis XV is her history. She transformed 
everything. The Court, greatly sunk in credit and 
splendour since the great days of Louis XIV, began to 
revive again. 

She was full of great ideas, enormously extravagant 
and ambitious, but of unquestionable genius. 

To the King she was everything. She accepted the 
full weight of state affairs. Nothing was settled or 
done without her sanction. Her rule was absolute, 
even in military matters. She went with the King to 
his Flanders campaign, which ended in the French 
victory of Fontenoy, controlling and organizing. 

“ The army is so absolutely under her government,” 
says a French writer, “ that she appoints and removes 
all the Generals at her pleasure ; and God knows what 
Generals they are whom she dismisses, and what 
Generals they are whom she appoints. God knows 
what battles she says that we gain, and what battles 
we lose.” All state business passed through her 
hands, all chief offices in Church and State were at her 
disposal and sold by her to the highest bidder. 

Louis had never been able to amuse himself, and 
he had never either become a man or put away childish 


222 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


things. He was liable to fits of depression, and so 
easily bored that his favourite was obliged to fill up 
his days and nights with a constant succession of 
plays, excursions, fetes , petits soupers, and other less 
innocent amusements. As long as his mind was taken 
up with these, the Pompadour could manage the 
pressing affairs of the realm ; but the double duty was 
more than nature would endure. She paid for it with 
her life, but not until she had reigned for twenty years. 

At the height of Madame de Pompadour’s power the 
King recalled his daughters to Court. As the convent 
authorities had aimed only at a training in devotional 
exercises, the little bevy of girls went back to Ver¬ 
sailles as unfitted as they could well be to play any 
dignified part there. Finding the whole Court divided 
into two camps, those of the King and the Queen, they 
joined with their brother the Dauphin in siding with 
their mother. " They groan over the King’s amours 
and abuse his mistresses,” writes d’Argenson. In 
spite of their hostility, which they doubtless soon 
learned to dissemble, the King made pets and com¬ 
panions of his little girls, although they attempted no 
concealment of their detestation of the Pompadour. 

The story of the princesses’ daily admittance to 
the august presence of their father has often been told. 
Madame Adelaide occupied apartments communicating 
with those of the King. At the hour when his morning 
coffee was served, Tatters rang a bell, which warned 
Piggy. Piggy in her turn rang for Mite, who rang for 
Rag. All then were in motion to get to the King as 
quickly as possible. By the time the last summons 
was given, the King was half-way through his morning 
meal, generally a hurried affair, because he wanted to 
go out hunting immediately, and the little Rag, who 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


223 


was very short and lame, and whose rooms were in a 
distant part of the palace, in spite of desperate haste, 
seldom arrived in time to do more than see him rise 
from table. 

“ Every evening at six,” writes Madame de Campan 
in her memoirs, “ the ladies interrupted my reading 
to them to accompany the princes to Louis XV ; this 
visit was called the King’s deb otter, and was marked 
by a kind of etiquette. The princesses put on an 
enormous hoop, which set out a petticoat ornamented 
with gold or embroidery ; they fastened a long train 
round their waists, and concealed the * undress ’ of 
the rest of their clothing by a long cloak of black 
taffety which enveloped them up to the chin. The 
gentlemen ushers, the ladies-in-waiting, the pages, the 
esquires, and the ushers bearing large flambeaux, 
accompanied them to the King. In a moment the 
whole palace, generally so still, was in motion, the 
King kissed each princess on the forehead, and the 
visit was so short that the reading which it interrupted 
was frequently resumed at the end of a quarter of an 
hour : the princesses returned to their apartments, 
and untied the strings of their petticoats and trains; 
they resumed their tapestry, and I my book.” 

Life at Court was exceedingly dull. The princesses 
would have liked country pursuits, but the stiff alleys 
and gardens of Versailles, the park-like woods and 
artificial wildness, offered nothing attractive. Con¬ 
scious of the defects in their education, they became 
very studious, and filled their empty lives with a great 
deal of serious reading. All were passionately fond of 
music, and played on a variety of instruments. Ade¬ 
laide was especially devoted to all kinds of music. 
She had no ear, and did not know whether she played 


224 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


right or wrong. One of the diversions of her father 
was to hand her a violin, and observe with what 
vigour and what perfect satisfaction she drew forth a 
painful series of discordant sounds. 

The eldest Child of France, Louise Elisabeth, was 
the only one of the eight daughters provided with a 
husband and a home of her own. In 1739 she was 
married to her cousin, Don Philip ; one of the younger 
sons of Philip V of Spain. She was twelve when the 
marriage was celebrated at Versailles and at Paris 
with extreme pomp. The due d’Orleans acted as 
proxy. At the first ceremony Louise Elisabeth wore a 
State dress of black and gold cloth ; her mantle of gold 
net was carried by her twin sister Henriette. On the 
following day she wore cloth of silver and diamonds. 
The economical Fleury was scandalized at the expense 
of the trousseau. Balls and fetes in Paris to celebrate 
the event cost the city vast sums. In the midst of 
the rejoicings the French Princess set out for her 
Spanish home. The parting with Henriette was a 
bitter trial. The new life had no attractions for her. 
Her heart was always at her old home. As Duchess 
of Parma she returned for long visits to her father’s 
Court, and was there in December 1759, when she was 
attacked by smallpox. She lived only six days. 
The entire royal family ran away to Marly to escape 
infection and the sight of death. Poor Louise Elisa¬ 
beth was carried to her grave at St. Denis with very 
little ceremony and few prayers. 

The story of Henriette, Madame Seconde, is poig¬ 
nantly simple and brief. Full of spirit and grace, her 
figure remains as the most attractive of all the King’s 
children. Slight, delicate, and dreamy, Madame 
Seconde loved her cousin, the due de Chartres, and 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


225 


her love was returned. Her marriage was, however, 
wrecked on the rock of political intrigue by Cardinal 
Fleury. But a note of romance, more appealing to 
British interest, is sounded concerning Henriette. 
The fire of her dark eyes had enthralled the imagination 
of an honoured guest at her father’s Court, the Scottish 
Prince Charles Edward Stuart, the hero of the last 
chivalrous enterprise of the century. 

“ The Prince very often drank to the Black Eye, by 
which he meant the second daughter of France,” 
records one of his devoted followers in Scotland. 
Vague and illusive, lacking all detail and continuity, 
the episode retains the delicate charm of all things of 
lovely promise that never found fulfilment. Whether 
Henriette knew the conquest her dark eyes had 
achieved, while her picture was carried in memory 
northwards across the sea, when the Prince embarked 
on his great adventure, research has not revealed. 
Among the shadows of the past no further picture 
can be evolved of the ethereal form of Henriette 
linked with the knightly figure of Bonnie Prince 
Charlie. 

Henriette lived only till her twenty-fifth year. The 
King was in despair when she began to fade and grow 
pale. He ordered her to rouge—a very common 
custom, even among children. 

One of the Scottish Jacobite exiles sheltered at the 
French Court affords in his diary a few details of her 
death. 

“ January 30th, 1752.—Madame Henriet, eldest 
daughter of the King and twin with M. Don Philip, 
died of a high feaver ye 7th day ; had a sort of Leperesy 
in the head. Madame Henriet’s body was exposed 
some hours in the evening dressed as if alive, carried 

15 


226 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


about 12 to Palace of Tuileries in Paris and exposed all 
next day, face bare, after that embalmed, laid in the 
coffin and put en depot , room hung with white. The 
Dauphin and all the Royal family put on mourning 
six weeks for the sister. The Court wore black full- 
mounted coats, black stokins swords and buckles, 
frienged linnen. Then the Dauphin and Dames went 
and threw holy water on their sister’s coffin. Madame 
Henriet was not buried till March 9th, when the 
Dauphin and three Dames attended the funeral at 
St. Denis.” 

Her whole family, plunged into the darkest grief, 
bewailed Henriette. Most moving of all lamentations 
is that uttered by the little Louise, who was twelve 
years old. “ Why did they not leave me at Fonte- 
vralt ? I should never have known her then.” 

Adelaide, Madame Troisieme, was formed altogether 
of different clay ; masculine, independent, impulsive, 
she was the only one of the group inflexibly resolved 
to play a role and make herself felt. Various negotia¬ 
tions for her marriage fell through. She was con¬ 
demned to stagnation, for such was life at Versailles, 
except for those who paid court to Madame de Pompa¬ 
dour. Intensely jealous of her dignity, Adelaide could 
never bring herself to do so. She remained at Court 
until 1791, and ended her days in exile at Trieste, 
whither she fled with Victoire at the time of the Revolu¬ 
tion. Bereaved of every one, and a beggar, she lived 
till 1800, longer than any other members of her un¬ 
fortunate family. Of the ten children of Louis XV, 
Adelaide and Victoire alone lived to see the Revolu¬ 
tion and the end of the monarchy which they had 
believed so sacred an institution. 

When the storm of the Revolution broke, Victoire 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


227 


and Adelaide showed a proud fortitude. After their 
dull, uneventful lives they were called, in their old 
age, to live through high and dangerous adventure. 
They met adversity with spirit and courage. In 
February, 1791, they finally fled from France. The 
first years of their exile were spent in Rome, lightened 
by the hope that matters would change for the better 
and the King be recalled to his throne. As old age 
overtook them all their hopes were extinguished; 
the lights of life were lowered one by one as the final 
catastrophe closed in upon their race. Poor, unwel¬ 
come, hunted from place to place, in miserable dis¬ 
comfort, these daughters of a king lived out in proud 
humility the last few dreary years of dreary lives. 

When they reached Trieste Victoire was already 
dying. She died in June, 1799. “ My friend, let us 
be brave if we can,” are her last recorded words. 

Of Sophie what can be said ? Silent and shadowy, 
nothing is known except that she lived, and died at 
Versailles when she was forty-eight. She has left no 
story, no mark on the records of her day. After her 
death a little light is thrown on her personality by a 
letter written by her sister, Louise, the Carmelite nun. 

“ Sophie’s death has pierced me to the heart, but the 
spirit in which she made the sacrifice of her life fills 
me with comfort. We may truly say that she died 
as she had lived. It would have been difficult for me 
to give you any particulars of her life, her chief virtue 
having been simplicity, and her chief study conceal¬ 
ment of her real worth. I can only say that I wish I 
had as little to reproach myself with as she had. 
I have never met a purer soul.” 

Louise, the last of the family, was the only one 
destined to know real happiness. Early realizing 


228 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


that it was not to be found at her father’s Court, she 
resolved to become a nun and devote her life to God. 
To carry out this design required a great deal of 
courage and persistence. At the age of thirty-two 
she gained the King’s consent and became a Carmelite 
nun at the Convent of St. Denis. Her sisters were not 
told of her resolution till the cloister had received her, 
in April, 1770. Although there was nothing enviable 
in their own lives, the idea of such a sacrifice appalled 
them. But Louise had made a good choice. A 
devoted and intelligent woman, her name is to this 
day honoured and loved in France. She had all the 
brains and all the lovableness of the family. 

An immense wealth of human devotion was given 
to her father. Her life was offered in expiation of his 
sins, and she entered the convent solely to pray for 
his soul. Her one passionate desire was for his con¬ 
version. " Oh, the happiness, were I a Carmelite,” 
she said, “ and the King in truth God’s man ! ” Sister 
Louise was happy in dying before the dark tragedy 
of the Revolution. She died at the age of fifty-one, 
in December, 1787. In her last delirium the mind 
of the royal nun went back through the mists to 
the days of her girlhood, when she had been a great 
rider and very fond of hunting. “ Come ! gallop; 
let us make haste to get to Paradise.” 

The figure of the Dauphin, the only surviving son 
of Louis XV, shows in decided contrast to the shadowy 
personalities of his sisters. Like most children of 
that day of whom any record survives, in his boyhood 
he gave way, unchecked, to temper. 

" The Dauphin is frightfully violent, and instead 
of this disposition becoming corrected, it increases, 
though he is now ten and a half years old. He strikes 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


229 


everybody about him; and the other day he gave a 
great box on the ear to the Bishop of Mirepoix, his 
tutor, for having contradicted him/’ 

In those childish days the young Louis respected 
his father and loved his mother. Unfortunately 
Louis XV had a jealous hatred of his heir, whose 
manner was austere and reserved, and who did not 
care for the amusements of the Court. Even hunting 
and shooting did not appeal to him. He had the mis¬ 
fortune to be enormously stout, a fact which the diarists 
constantly mention, in default of anything really in¬ 
teresting to relate concerning him. 

The marriage of the Dauphin was arranged when he 
was ten, and was celebrated when he was fourteen. 
The chosen bride was Marie Ther&se of Spain. 

She had intelligence and sense, but her shyness and 
Spanish imperturbability made her an unresponsive 
companion. She was a sister of the little Infanta 
who had been so unkindly rejected by France as the 
bride of Louis XV. The wedding was at Versailles. 
The bride wore silver brocade and pearls. The stout 
little Dauphin was in cloth of gold embroidered with 
diamonds. In the evening there was a ballet, “ La 
Princesse de Navarre/' written by Voltaire and 
Rameau. Marie Therese sat stolidly through the 
performance. The humour of the piece was wasted 
upon her; she never could see a joke. 

On 19 July, 1746, her child was born. The young 
mother only lived three days. The baby, Marie 
Therese de France, who lived not quite two years, 
was known and petted at Court as la fetite Madame. 

Nine months after his first Dauphine’s death, the 
Dauphin married again, very much against his own 
wishes, Marie Josefa de Saxe. The bride was fifteen, 


230 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


and was fated to be the mother of the last three Bour¬ 
bon Kings. She was not pretty, but is described as 
pleasing. Had she looked like Venus herself, Louis 
would have met her with stony indifference, for he 
could not so quickly forget his first wife, of whom 
he had been really fond. Nothing but pity can be 
felt for the poor boy compelled so soon after her loss 
again to go through all the ceremonies and splendours 
of wedding festivities at Versailles. To him it was all 
tragedy. In the end he learned to care for Marie 
Josef a, and the marriage was one of tranquil happiness. 
The continuance of the Bourbon line 1 was soon amply 
assured. 

At Marie Zephyrine’s birth there was the usual 
disappointment at the sex of the infant. Her mother, 
the Dauphine, wrote when she was six months old: 
“ She is very ugly, and they say she resembles me as 
much as one drop of water resembles another. For 

1 The following children were born to Louis the Dauphin and 
Marie Jos6fa :— 

(1) Marie Zephyrine, born 26 August, 1750; died 2 September, 
1755 . 

(2) Louis Joseph Xavier, due de Bourgogne, bom 13 Sep¬ 
tember, 1751 ; died 22 March, 1761. 

(3) Marie Xavier Joseph, due d’Aquitaine, born 8 Sep¬ 
tember, 1753 ; died 22 February, 1754. 

(4) Louis Auguste,[due de Berri (Louis XVI), born 23 August, 
1754 ; guillotined 21 January, 1793. 

(5) Louis Stanislas Xavier, comte de Provence (Louis XVIII), 
born 17 November, 1755 ; died 16 September, 1824. 

(6) Charles Philippe, comte d’Artois (Charles X), born 9 
October, 1757 ; died 6 November, 1836. 

(7) Marie Adelaide Clotilde Xavier (Queen of Sardinia), born 
21 September, 1759 ; died 27 May, 1802. 

(8) Elisabeth Philippine Marie Helene Therfcse, known to 
history as Madame Elisabeth, bom 3 May, 1764 ; guillotined 
10 May,' 1794. 

All these children were born at Versailles. 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


231 


the rest, very wilful and as naughty as a small dragon.” 
Marie Zephyrine died at five years old. Immense 
and extravagant rejoicings marked the event of the 
birth of a boy in 1751. " He is a fine, sturdy, thriv¬ 

ing child,” writes a diarist of the day. “The King 
said the day after he was born that his hand was as 
big as his. He is ten stages prittyer than his sister.” 
An incident of his babyhood throws light on the 
strange customs that still prevailed in keeping up a 
kind of intimate association between the masses of 
the people and the remote and sacred dignity of 
royalty. Permission was given to the public to come 
to see the new heir to the throne at Versailles. The 
baby was placed in an open cradle out of doors, but 
in case the crowd should press too near, the cradle 
was surrounded by an iron grating, an arrangement 
irresistibly suggestive of a Zoo. Madame Sauv6, one 
of his nurses, was in charge of the exhibition. Some one 
in the crowd managed to throw a sealed packet into 
the cradle. It contained a few grains of wheat, bitter 
complaints against the King and his Government, and 
a threat of assassination. The King was furious. 
Poor Madame Sauve, suspected of complicity, was 
thrown into the Bastille and never heard of again. 

This little Duke of Bourgogne, like another of his 
name and race, became a noble boy. Although 
haughty and passionate, like all his family, he had 
the splendid qualities of a high sense of honour and 
generosity of nature. As King of France he might, 
even at that late hour, have helped to avert the 
impending catastrophe. But he lived only nine 
years. One of his favourite gentlemen-in-waiting, the 
marquis de la Haie, while playing with him, let him 
fall off his wooden horse. The boy being apparently 


232 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


unhurt, the marquis begged that he would tell no one 
of the accident. The child promised, and afterwards 
concealed as much as possible the pain he suffered in 
consequence of the fall. He never betrayed the secret, 
or told anyone, until after the death of La Haie at 
the battle of Minden. He then admitted that the 
accident had happened, but by this time his internal 
injuries were beyond help. He died in 1761. 

Xavier Marie Joseph, due d’Aquitaine, was born 
in 1753. He only lived for five months. The parents 
thus had to mourn their three eldest children. 

The little Louis, due de Berri, born in 1754, had, un- 
unluckily for himself, a stronger hold on life from the 
first. He was followed by two little brothers, Louis 
Xavier, comte de Provence, and Charles, comte d’Artois. 
These three boys became in turn Louis XVI, Louis 
XVIII, and Charles X of France. At the end of the 
family came two little girls, Marie Adelaide, the 
grosse Madame who afterwards married the King 
of Sardinia, and Elisabeth, whose frail figure stands 
out in heroic relief against the grim confused back¬ 
ground of the Revolution. 

Tatters, Piggy, Mite, and Rag were themselves hardly 
out of childhood when the new little group of children 
again filled the royal nurseries, and the King’s daughters 
were definitely relegated to the role of maiden aunts. 

Horace Walpole gives a description of a visit he 
paid to the French Court in 1765. 

“ The four Mesdames, who are clumsy, plump old 
wenches ” (the eldest, by the way, was only thirty- 
three), " with a bad likeness to their father, stand in 
a bedchamber in a row, with black caps and knotting- 
bags, looking good humoured, not knowing what to 
say. ... Then you are carried to the Dauphin’s 



CHARLES X AND HIS SISTER MARIE-ADELAIDE AS CHILDREN 

From the painting by Drouais in the Louvre 






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


233 


three boys, who, you may be sure, only bow and stare. 
The Duke of Berry looks weak and weak-eyed ; the 
Count de Provence is a fine boy ; the Count d’Artois 
well enough. The whole concludes with seeing the 
Dauphin’s little girl dine, who is as round and as fat 
as a pudding.” 

Poor little Marie Adelaide ! Her stoutness was 
evidently the most remarkable thing about her, and 
she was clearly conscious of the defect. 

“It is well known how thick and voluminous is 
Madame Marie Adelaide, whose marriage with the 
Prince of Piedmont is announced,” says a Court 
chronicler. 

When she met her future husband, “You find me 
very fat ? ” were the first words of the poor child. 
“ I find you charming,” replied the Prince. “ You 
will make me happy.” The Prince afterwards ad¬ 
mitted that he had, at the first moment, been staggered 
at her size. 

The Dauphin did not live to see any of his children 
grow up. The eldest, afterwards Louis XVI, of tragic 
memory, was eleven, and the youngest, Elisabeth, a 
baby of a year old, when, after a long illness, the only 
son of Louis XV resigned his life. 

In fifteen months the little Dauphine followed him 
to the grave, and again, in another fifteen months, 
the Queen Marie Leczinska, the most lonely wife and 
mother in all history, gave up a life that had long 
ceased to give or to promise any ray of happiness. 
Madame de Pompadour was dead also. The figure of 
the King is seen alone, in the vast galleries of his 
palace. 

He was alone, in spite of the presence of four 
daughters, all that remained of his children. He 


234 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


loved them in his own way, and now might have 
admitted them more and more to his private counsels. 
But the ineffectiveness that marked all their char¬ 
acters destroyed their chance of playing a great part. 
Bigoted and prejudiced, they were incapable of wide 
views. They were thus partly to blame for the advent 
of the triumphant Du Barry. 

About the end of 1769, Marie Jeanne Vaubernier 
was introduced to the King. She was twenty-four 
years old, very beautiful, extremely vulgar, ill- 
mannered, uneducated, and of low birth. The King 
loved her with extraordinary passion. Long associa¬ 
tion with a woman of so remarkable a character, and 
so clever a head, as Madame de Pompadour, might 
have made Louis more fastidious in the choice of 
a companion. Where Pompadour had richness of 
nature and imagination, Marie Jeanne Vaubernier 
had nothing but frivolity and greed. Her strength 
lay in the fact that she could amuse the King, and 
that in her company, laughing at her fantastic childish 
tricks, or surprised by the fearless impudence of her 
familiarity, he could feel as if he belonged to her own 
class, which was the class that always attracted him. 
The reign of Du Barry 1 lasted till the King’s death. 

It will be realized that the Court at Versailles, under 
such auspices, was scarcely a suitable training-ground 
for the Children of France. The eldest of the group, 
the boy, due de Berri, fated afterwards to reign as 
Louis XVI, was the favourite of his Aunt Adelaide. 


1 The poor woman eventually paid for her few years of supremacy 
with her life, but not till she had shown an unexpected nobleness of 
nature in acts of self-sacrificing devotion to the royal family in 
their distress. She offered them all her fortune and sold her jewels 
to help the Queen. She died on the scaffold in 1793. 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


235 


She, the most spirited of the spiritless group of sisters, 
deplored the reserve and dullness of her eldest nephew. 
“ Shout ! Scold ! ” she urged. “ Make an uproar 
like your brother d’Artois ! Knock down my china 
and break it ! Make some noise in the world! ” 
As if haunted by some foreknowledge of the horrors 
that lay before him, the boy became more silent, 
more profoundly reserved. He felt himself plain 
and heavy, with no popular qualities like his brothers. 
After the death of his parents a desperate sense of 
loneliness assailed him in the crowded Court. “ Whom 
shall I love here, where nobody loves me ? ” Poor 
Loque answered him as well as she could, giving 
him such wealth of indulgent love as her nature 
allowed. 

Though so lacking in Bourbon charm, he had the 
Bourbon love of sport, and shared with his ancestors 
the mistaken idea that it could form the chief business 
of life. Then, at fifteen, came his marriage, when, 
for the last time, France, starving and bankrupt, 
flamed out into splendour of ceremonial—a flame 
now so soon to be quenched in blood. A valuable 
political alliance was secured by his marriage with 
one of the five daughters of Marie Therese of Austria, 
Marie Antoinette, who was then fourteen. 

The marriage was solemnized in the King’s Chapel 
at Versailles. 

On 30 May the city of Paris gave a great fete in 
honour of bride and bridegroom. A show of fireworks 
was designed in the.Place Louis XV. Some wooden 
scaffolding, erected for the firework display in the 
middle of the square, took fire. There was really no 
danger, but a sudden panic seized the crowd, and 
there was no authority ready to take control. 


236 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


For half an hour the battle raged, the mass of 
struggling humanity swaying to and fro, killing and 
trampling upon each other. When the panic subsided 
and the crowd dispersed, a thousand dead were 
found and carried away to the Cemetery of the 
Madeleine. 

The King never learned the truth; the full extent 
of the disaster and the number of victims was kept 
from him. Both the Dauphin and Dauphine were 
profoundly moved. The little bride, totally un¬ 
nerved, continued to weep for days and could speak 
of nothing else. 

This national disaster was an unfortunate beginning 
to their married life, which brought them, indeed, 
nothing but a long struggle, in one way and another, 
against adverse circumstances. Marie Antoinette was 
still a child, very wayward and fascinating, full of 
vitality and grace. The brothers and sisters of the 
Dauphin were still boys and girls. Marie Antoinette, 
as a wife, was supposed to associate more with the 
maiden aunts, Adelaide, Victoire, and Sophie. She was 
fond of them, but she shocked them continually with 
a light-hearted contempt for Hie solemnities of Court 
etiquette. Unconventional by nature, she would not 
be a martyr to decorum, and did not care who handed 
her a chemise when she dressed, who fetched a glass 
of water when she was thirsty, or whether the ladies 
in attending her wore the lappets of their head-dress 
pinned up or loose. The comtesse de Noailles, who 
was punctilious on all these points, she christened 
Madame Etiquette. Once, when riding at Trianon, 
Marie Antoinette was thrown from her donkey. " Run, 
run ! ” she cried, laughing, and still lying on the 
ground; “ fetch Madame Etiquette, that she may 


CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


237 


tell me what a Dauphine of France does when she 
falls off a donkey.” She discarded the disfiguring 
hoop and heavy splendour of Court dress, wore muslins 
and light silks and affected an extreme plainness of garb. 
The royal aunts were in despair. The question of 
dress was only one of many deplored innovations. 
The Dauphine refused to be bound, in giving favours 
and forming friendships, by any laws of precedent; 
she saw nothing sacred in hoary hereditary customs, 
and swept aside, as egregious vanities, a hundred 
little ancient rules which seemed consecrated ritual 
to the three sisters. 

The reign of Louis, Le Bien-Aime, was drawing to a 
close. For a year he had suffered a deep melancholy, 
seldom rousing himself from a condition of drowsy 
languor. He went oftener than usual to the Convent of 
St. Denis to see his daughter, Louise, and became more 
scrupulous in devotional exercises. Nothing brought 
him any happiness or could lift the cloud of depression. 

At Trianon, on 29 April, 1774, he became acutely ill 
and was carried to Versailles. In a few days small¬ 
pox of a peculiarly virulent type declared itself. So 
poisonous was the infection that fifty persons in the 
palace took the disease, though they were never in 
the King’s room, and of these ten died. 

Madame du Barry had the fortitude to watch by 
his bedside, from which all fled who could do so with 
any shadow of excuse. When the King was warned 
of his danger, about 4 May, he said to her : 

“ Madame, je suis mal; je sais ce que j’ai a faire. . . . 
II faut nous separer . . .; soyez sur que faurai tou¬ 
jour s pour vous Vamitie la plus tendre .” 

Then there crept to his bedside, never to leave it 
till the end, the only beings in the world who really 


238 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


loved Louis. Eagerly solicitous, ready with every 
loving sacrifice, moved here and there about the 
death-chamber the grey silent shadows of his three 
daughters, Adelaide, Victoire, and Sophie. 1 The 
rules of her Order forbade Louise to come. She sent 
her crucifix, which the Pope had given her, to her 
father : he took it in his hands and said, “ That is 
just like her ; thank her for me.” 

Quarrels and disputes surged outside, even to the 
very door of the sick-room, as to whether the Sacra¬ 
ments should be administered, and by whom. Louis, 
lying unrecognizable, a horrible vision with a black 
mask over the once beautiful face, was in a panic of 
superstitious fear. A sense of sin seized upon him. 
He sent a message of public repentance to his people. 
He confessed and reconfessed. 

Louis XV died at ten o’clock at night on io May, 
1774. There was a general flight from Versailles. 
Only the Captain of the Scottish Guard, who had the 
right to watch over the dead King, and one or two 
other officials remained. With all haste the body was 
hurried to St. Denis. Those who carried him thither 
were not even dressed in mourning. 

“ Te voila done, pauvre Louis, 

Dans un cercueil a Saint Denis ! 

C’est la que ta grandeur expire. 

Depuis longtemps, s’il faut le dire, 

Inhabile a donner la loi 
Tu portais le vain nom de Roi 
Sous la tutelle et sous Pempire 
Des tyrans qui regnaient pour toi.” 


1 The Court of France was the only one in Europe where the 
precaution of inoculation for smallpox was not in use. All three 
princesses developed smallpox a few days after the death of Louis 
XV, and Adelaide nearly died. 



CHILDREN OF LOUIS XV 


239 


So was expressed the national feeling of France. 
Louis had long ceased to be the “ well-beloved ” of 
his people. 

Yet there was mourning for even this outcast among 
kings. Beggared of all public respect, there burned 
steadily still in the hearts of his children the only 
steadfast affection he ever won. 

“ I love, and shall ever love till my dying day,” 
wrote the holy nun of St. Denis, “ a tender father, to 
whom I have owed my happiness all my life. ... I 
hope that he is happy, or very soon to be so, and it is 
sweet to me to think that he is near me until such 
time as we shall be reunited in the bosom of God.” 

No laurels of glory and honour may be laid on the 
grave of Louis, but such words, sincerely spoken and 
believed, throw a veil of beauty over the blame and 
dishonour that disfigure the records of his life. A 
ray of warm human love falls across a despised and 
execrated memory. 


CHAPTER XIV 

CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 

T HE apartments of the Dauphin and Marie 
Antoinette at Versailles were far distant from 
the room where the long reign of Louis XV drew pain¬ 
fully to its close. From their windows they looked 
across a wide space to the great range of state rooms, 
almost empty now, to watch hour by hour for a sign. 
In one of the King’s windows a single candle was 
set burning, the signal that he still breathed. It was 
extinguished. In a moment the great corridors of 
the palace were thunderous with the stir of countless 
hurrying footsteps, eager men and women converging 
noisily from all quarters to the place where the new 
King and Queen, on their knees, and in tears, assumed 
the splendid burden of their new position. Louis was 
twenty and his wife eighteen years old. Their brief 
prayer was uttered in all sincerity : 

“ Help us, 0 God ! We are too young to reign ! ” 
The time was passed when all France turned in a 
passion of loyalty to acclaim a new king. The people 
had suffered too much and too long. The good 
qualities of Louis XVI failed to save the national 
respect for royalty, which, having already survived 
centuries of oppression and selfishness, was now nearly 
at an end. 


240 



MARIE ANTOINETTE AND HER CHILDREN 
From the painting by Madame Vige'e Lebrun at Versailles 





CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


241 


By an ironic fate, the man who was to pay the price 
had none of the colossal faults of his Valois and 
Bourbon forerunners. Dull and heavy as a boy, Louis 
developed qualities in early manhood which brought 
his character within sight of the greatest of kingly 
ideals. He was capable not only of love for his people, 
but of love for humanity. 

Sentiment and emotion dominated the girlhood of 
Marie Antoinette. Everything she did was prompted 
by the heart and not the head. She was unmeasured 
in her love, her pity, her dislikes, her wishes. In¬ 
tensely human, with the ready sympathy, the quick 
response, the gift of understanding, and warm, im¬ 
pulsive expression that make a character irresistibly 
lovable, she wanted to remedy all distress. Like the 
gracious princess, Marguerite of Angouleme, of three 
hundred years before, “ she had a smile for all, and 
held out her little hand to every comer.” 

Everything showed the freshness and gaiety of a 
new reign, though, in point of morals and decent 
behaviour, the courtiers had to reform their ways. 
In the brilliant Court no one troubled much about 
state affairs. An extraordinary ignorance prevailed 
of all conditions outside. Politics interested no one 
but the King and his Ministers. 

The girl-Queen went in and out of the Council 
Chamber as she pleased, advising, dismissing, recalling, 
sometimes with good effect. But she understood noth¬ 
ing. Her education had been neglected, and she was 
too young to read the signs of the times by the light 
of her own intuitions. Almost from the first she was 
intensely unpopular as an Austrian. All her childish 
vanities, her wild spirits, her daring defiance of Court 
etiquette were taken up, repeated, and exaggerated. 

16 


242 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


She rose early to see the sunrise, walked late in the 
woods, indulged in the pastime of sleighing, and in an 
imprudent frolic one night drove her sleigh without 
attendants through the streets of Paris. Everything 
she did was misconstrued. 

She chose her friends perhaps not very wisely, but 
according to impulses which sometimes showed insight. 
Chief among them in the early days was the Princesse 
de Lamballe, a young and pretty widow, who joined 
the Queen in many an escapade, perfectly innocent, 
but then thought wild and indiscreet. The char¬ 
acter of the Princesse was slight, and the word silly 
best describes her. The Queen, after an absorbing in¬ 
timacy, grew a little tired of her unvarying amiability. 

But staunch to death in her love for the Queen, the 
Princesse rises into heroic prominence in the records of 
the Revolution, when she loyally laid down her life 
in the royal service. 

A far better friendship for the Queen was close at 
hand, but in the early days of her reign her husband’s 
sister, Elisabeth of France, eight years younger than 
herself, would seem in her eyes merely a child. Elisa¬ 
beth had no brilliant qualities. In appearance she 
was small and insignificant, with irregular features and 
the large Bourbon nose. In character she was intensely 
loyal and true. She had lost both her parents when she 
was three, and all her affection centred in her eldest 
brother, the King. She would never marry. “ I 
would rather remain here at the foot of my brother’s 
throne than occupy that of a stranger.” She never 
swerved from her chosen path, but devoted her life 
to Louis and his family. When acute distress over¬ 
took them, Marie Antoinette learned the value of such 
affection. 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


243 


One undying memory belongs partly to these early 
days. Standing out nobly in the surroundings of the 
Queen, grave, self-controlled, gallant, the soul of 
honour, the Swedish gentleman, the comte Axel de 
Fersen, moves among the intrigues, the false estimates 
of morals, as one who had learned to know the true 
meaning of life, and was steadfast to a chivalrous code 
unknown to the lighter spirits of Frenchmen. His 
fine friendship, not untouched by high passion, inspired 
by Marie Antoinette, is a beautiful memory, crowned 
as it was by her own deep and tender interest. Fersen 
left the Court when his favour was at its brightest, 
and followed Lafayette to the wars in America. He 
returned in the midst of the thunders of the Revolution 
to render devoted service to the Queen and her family 
at great personal danger. 

Existence at Versailles was a round of gaiety. Among 
the varied excitements offered by the life, the young 
Queen moved with the restlessness of an unsatisfied 
nature. She loved dancing, hunting, acting, or tried to 
love them so much that her real thoughts might be for¬ 
gotten for a while. She tried to be absorbed in dress. 
The old days of simple taste were gone. Magnificence 
and variety, monstrous exaggerations and caprices, were 
invented by the milliners and adopted by the Queen 
at great expense. Still she longed for new emotions. 
Through all the history of Court life cards had played a 
leading part. She had once hated card games. Now 
she began to gamble, not heavily at first, but after¬ 
wards with total disregard for her own resources or 
those of the state. Horse-racing 1 was introduced 

1 The “ Newmarket Fran?ais ” was opened in 1775 at les Sablons. 
Only four horses ran ; they belonged to the King’s brother, d’Artois, 
the due de Lauzun, the marquis de Conflans, and the due de 


244 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


into France. The sport appealed to her craving for 
excitement, and huge sums disappeared in following 
its fascinations. Jewels had always tempted her; 
she bought more and more, never troubled in these 
early days by one single thought of the selfishness and 
irresponsibility of her expenditure. 

The young King could not be persuaded to put any 
check on her extravagance and caprice. “ Let her 
be,” was always his answer. He studied her char¬ 
acter and understood her better as boyhood was left 
behind. 

When at last, after eight years, the first child 1 came, 
the true womanhood of Marie Antoinette began to 
assert itself. 

The story of the child’s birth carries the mind 
back into the dark ages as far as medical science and the 
simplest rules of health are concerned. According to 
the ancient privileges of the nation, the populace was 
allowed to enter the palace and even the Queen’s 
bedroom. Some enthusiasts climbed up the bedposts. 

Chartres. Lauzun’s horse was an easy winner, with an English 
jockey. The stakes were very small. A stand had been erected 
for the Queen, who witnessed the race, looking belle comme le jour, 
et le jour ttait charmant. She was delighted, and had the winning 
jockey presented to her. 

1 The following is a list of the children of Louis XVI and Marie 
Antoinette :— 

(1) Marie Th6r&se Charlotte, Madame Roy ale, born at Ver¬ 
sailles, 19 December, 1778 ; married io June, 1799, to her cousin, 
Louis de Bourbon, the due d'Angouleme; died at Frohsdorf, 
19 October 1851, leaving no children. 

(2) Louis Joseph Xavier Fran5ois, bom at Versailles, 22 
October, 1781 ; died at Meudon, 4 June, 1789. 

(3) Louis Charles (Louis XVII), born at Versailles, 27 March, 

1785 ; said to have died in the Temple prison, 8 June, 1795. 

(4) Marie Sophie Helene Beatrix, born at Versailles, 29 July, 

1786 ; died at Versailles, 19 June, 1787. 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


245 


All the windows were shut, and any possible breath of 
air excluded by paper pasted over all crevices. The 
Queen nearly died in a fainting-fit. The King had 
the sense to thrust his arm through a window, and this 
perhaps saved her life. The sex of the baby was a 
crushing blow to politicians and the country at large. 
"You are mine,” said the young mother, who refused 
to be disappointed in the little atom of humanity; 
“ had you been a boy you would have belonged to the 
state.” This was little Madame Royale, the only one 
of the family who, after agonizing experiences, was to 
survive the Revolution. 

The birth of a son followed that of Marie Therese 
in October, 1781. The King had issued orders that 
no one was to tell the Queen at first whether the baby 
was a girl or a boy, lest the joy or the disappointment 
might prove fatal! The anxiety of the mother in this 
doubt, prolonged for some time, was naturally great. 
She pleaded with the King, assuring him that she knew 
it was a girl. He yielded at last and gave the order, 
“ Bring the Dauphin to the Queen.” After eleven years 
the hopes of France were fulfilled in the birth of a 
direct heir to the throne. Little could the happy 
mother have dreamed that she would live to be thank¬ 
ful for the death of this precious child. He lived to 
be seven years old. 

A very amusing pageant was arranged by the 
Parisians to celebrate this birth. In spite of the 
starvation and misery which then beset the city, the 
tradesmen went to Versailles in a body, each trade 
having its own troop with insignia, and a band of 
music. At the court of the palace they drew up. 
The butchers were there with a fat ox. The smiths 
carried a huge anvil, the chimney-sweepers an orna- 


246 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


mented chimney, on the top of which was perched 
the smallest sweep obtainable. The locksmiths were 
sure of a good reception from the King, for the making 
of locks was the chief relaxation of his days. The guild 
of Versailles brought as a present a secret lock. The 
King wished to discover the secret himself, and was 
successful in doing so. At the moment the key was 
withdrawn a tiny baby, made of steel, dropped out 
of the keyhole. The chairmen had a gilt Sedan chair, 
in which was an effigy of a nurse and a little Dauphin. 
The shoemakers were busy fashioning a tiny pair of 
boots for the baby, and the tailors making his little 
regimental uniform. 

The King came out upon the balcony and remained 
for a long time amused with this show. It was, 
however, not quite so complete as had been intended. 
The gravediggers had sent their deputation with 
suitable emblematic devices, a sight so horrifying to 
the feelings of Madame Sophie, the King’s aunt, 
who chanced to see them first, that she had the un¬ 
fortunate diggers sent away before they had taken 
their appointed place in the pageant. 

The Queen received a deputation of fishwives and 
market-women. They appeared in black silk gowns 
and nearly all wore diamonds ! 

Marie Antoinette’s third child, born in 1785, was 
Louis, due de Normandie. The fourth and youngest 
was Sophie, born in 1786. 

In early childhood the little group had a far happier 
fate than had fallen to the lot of most Children of 
France. In every way the welfare of childhood was 
more considered and better understood. The pictures 
of the boys and girls of the day show real youthfulness. 
They are not merely men and women in miniature. 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


247 


The Queens of France in the past had found little time 
to spend with their children. Marie Antoinette had 
swept away in a mass the cumbrous claims of antique 
customs. She insisted on having time to lead her own 
life, to follow her own wishes. Politically a mistake, 
this determination made the freedom and happiness 
of her children. The whole family would leave the 
stiff splendours of Versailles and go joyfully to La 
Muette or to Trianon, the Queen’s own little pleasure 
ground, where all etiquette was in abeyance. A simple 
country life was the rule there, artificial in character, 
with the model dairy, the stocked ponds, the planned 
groves and artistic wildness, yet giving the children 
the chance of leading the only life that was right for 
their development and happiness. 

To Madame de Campan we owe one or two pictures 
of the life of the family in these early days. 

“ The Queen incessantly talked to her daughter, 
though she was yet very young, about the sufferings 
of the poor during a season so inclement. The Princess 
already had a sum of from eight to ten thousand francs 
for charitable purposes, and the Queen made her dis¬ 
tribute a part of it herself. 

“ Wishing to give her children yet another lesson of 
beneficence, she desired me, on the New Year’s Eve, 
to get from Paris, as in other years, all the fashionable 
playthings, and have them spread out in her closet. 
Then, taking her children by the hand, she showed them 
all the toys and dolls which were ranged there, and told 
them that she had intended to give them some hand¬ 
some New Year’s gifts, but that the cold made the 
poor so wretched, that all her money was spent in 
blankets and clothes to protect them from the rigour 
of the season and in supplying them with bread ; so 


248 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


that this year they would only have the pleasure of 
looking at the new playthings. 

“ When she returned with her children into her 
sitting-room, she said there was still an unavoidable 
expense to be incurred ; that assuredly many mothers 
would at that season think as she did ; that the toyman 
must lose by it ; and therefore she gave him fifty 
louis to repay him for the cost of his journey, and 
console him for having sold nothing.” 

The Queen’s little daughter, Madame Roy ale, was 
known by the nickname' “ Mousseline la Serieuse,” 
so sad was the expression of her childish face. Only a 
very few years later she was to win a more tragic title, 
“ L’Orpheline du Temple.” The child was precocious, 
proud, perhaps even a little hard and arrogant. She 
had decision and independence of character. The great 
Napoleon in after years described her as “ the only man 
of her family.” 

“ My daughter, who is now six years old,” wrote 
Marie Antoinette, “ has rather a difficult character 
and is intensely proud. She feels far too strongly 
that the blood of Maria Theresa and Louis XIV flows 
in her veins. It is right she should remember it, but 
only to prove herself worthy of her descent. Gentle¬ 
ness is just as necessary, just as great a quality 
as dignity, and a haughty character is never be¬ 
loved.” 

A contemporary writer has left a picture of the 
eldest boy. 

“ At two years old the Dauphin was very pretty. 
He articulated well, and answered questions put to 
him intelligently. While he was at La Muette every¬ 
body was at liberty to see him. Having received, in 
the presence of the visitors, a box of sweetmeats sent 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


249 


him by the Queen, with her portrait upon it, he said : 
“ Ah ! that’s mamma’s picture.” 

“ The Dauphin was always dressed very plain, like 
a sailor; there was nothing to distinguish him from 
other children in point of external appearance, but 
the cross of Saint Louis, the blue ribbon, and the order 
of the Fleece, decorations particularly belonging to his 
birth. 

“ The Duchess Jules de Polignac, his governess, 
scarcely ever left him for a single instant; she gave 
up all the Court excursions and amusements in order 
to devote her whole attention to the precious charge. 

“ A truly affecting trait is related of the young 
Dauphin, whom death snatched from us. The Prince 
always manifested a great regard for M. de Bourset, 
his valet de chambre. After falling into a state of 
weakness, from the sickness of which he died, he one 
day asked for a pair of scissors; that gentleman 
reminded him that they were forbidden. The child 
insisted mildly, and they were obliged to yield to him. 
Having got the scissors, he cut off a lock of his hair, 
which he wrapped in a sheet of paper : * There, sir,’ 
said he to his valet de chambre, ‘ there is the only 
present I can make you, having nothing at my com¬ 
mand ; but when I am dead, you will present this pledge 
to my papa and mamma, and while they remember 
me, I hope they will not forget you.’ ” 

Fortunate in quitting the scene before the awful 
drama of his race, the first Dauphin has left no heart¬ 
breaking memories. But he was a miserably sickly, 
weakly little boy, who suffered from rickets. From 
the first it was clear that he stood no chance of living 
to grow up. His parents were passionately devoted 
to him. 


250 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


The character of the second son of France, little Louis 
Charles, is summed up in one of his mother’s letters. 

“ 24 July , 1789 

“ In two days my son will be four years and four 
months old. ... He is very impetuous and violent 
when his anger is roused, but he is a good child, gentle 
and loving when his passion is over. He has an in¬ 
ordinately good opinion of himself, which, if carefully 
guided, may turn to his advantage. He is perfectly 
faithful when he has promised anything, but he is 
too frank and often repeats what he has heard, some¬ 
times adding details suggested by his imagination 
without the least intention of being untrue. . . . My 
son cannot read, and learns with difficulty; he is too 
heedless to be persevering. He has no thoughts of 
greatness in his head, and I hope this will long continue, 
for our children learn quite soon enough what they are. 
He loves his sister heartily.” 

The little sketch throws light on certain after events 
in the life of this most unfortunate child, in some 
degree explaining the part he was destined to play in 
the tragedy of his family. 

Marie Antoinette looked upon the death of her baby 
in 1787 as the real beginning of all her miseries. 

It was the first break in the family circle. The baby 
was only ill four days. The Queen suffered intensely. 
“ I need all your heart to comfort mine,” she wrote 
to Madame Elisabeth. Her ladies pointed out that 
her grief was extreme for a child only a few months 
old. " Do you forget that she would have been a 
friend ? ” the mother answered. Already she knew 
the cold sense of isolation in danger. 

It was on the 4th of May, 1789, that the curtain rose 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


251 


on the drama of the Revolution. It was the last day 
of the ancient monarchy of France. The power of the 
state passed from the hands of the King to the control 
of the people. 

The King and Queen went in state to open the 
States-General. The procession began at the Church 
of Notre-Dame, at Versailles, and went to the Church 
of St. Louis. The King was surrounded by his house¬ 
hold, the Queen by hers, and they were followed by 
the Princes of the Blood, all the nobility, the priests, 
the Archbishop with the Blessed Sacrament—two 
thousand in all, every one carrying a lighted candle. 
A vast throng of sightseers cheered or were silent as 
the great cortege passed. No one cheered the Queen, 
and the moment may have been bitter; but she is 
to be seen more as a mother than a queen. Upon 
the roof of a colonnade a little pallet bed was laid, 
covered with cushions, and down from thence, on the 
crowd and the procession, looked the wan face of the 
heir of France, the little disabled body stretched 
out, the listless eyes watching. The Dauphin was dying, 
and the mother’s thoughts may be guessed as she looked 
up from her coach to that piteous little figure waiting 
for her smile. Full of compassionate love the smile 
was given, covering, as it best could, the breaking heart. 

Just a month after the ceremony of the States- 
General, the King and Queen saw their boy die at 
Meudon. He was seven years old. Carried without 
pomp to St. Denis, the last of all his race to lie there 
among the kings, the little body was left in peace 
only three years. 1 The parents were overwhelmed 

1 The coffin of Louis Joseph was desecrated by the mob, and the 
body flung into a common trench on 16 October, 1793, the day of his 
mother's execution. 


252 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


with grief. “ How happy you are not to be a mother ! ” 
the Queen wrote to the Princesse de Lamballe. The 
King shut himself up and forbade anyone to approach 
him. But there was little leisure for the indulgence of 
private grief. Momentous events followed each other 
with bewildering haste. 

On 14 July the fortress of the Bastille was attacked. 
It was guarded by eighty-two of the Invalides and 
thirty-six Swiss Guards. There were but seven pris¬ 
oners there, and no attempt could be made to 
defend it. But, to the mob, the Bastille, with its 
cannon commanding the city of Paris, represented 
the unseen forces of tyranny. They hurled themselves 
upon it, as the only available object of revenge, 
levelling it to the ground and setting the prisoners 
free. The Governor and officers were murdered, 
and their heads carried on pikes through the city, 
amid frantic cries, “ The nation for ever ! The King 
for ever ! Liberty for ever ! ” 

After this popular outburst the King still blindly 
believed in conciliation. The Deputies of the National 
Assembly, whose council at Versailles the King and 
his brother attended, two days later, followed him to 
his quarters in the palace and asked to see the Queen 
and the new Dauphin. 

An immense concourse of people thronged the court¬ 
yards, and the cry went up that the King and Queen 
should appear on the balcony with their children. 
They did so. Little Mousseline la Serieuse , ten years 
old, and the Dauphin, only four, stood by their mother’s 
side, viewing the surging crowds, listening to the shouts, 
not understanding anything, and not very much afraid, 
as they saw a smile on the Queen’s lips, and did not 
guess its bitterness. 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


253 


The event that brought the misfortunes of the royal 
family to a head was a scene at a banquet given, 
according to custom, by the King’s Guards to a new 
regiment which had arrived at Versailles. 

The Princesse de Lamballe has left an account of 
the affair. 

“ After we had dined, the Queen sent to the 
Marchioness de Tourzel for the Dauphin. When he 
came, the Queen told him about her having seen the 
brave officers on their arrival; and how gaily these 
good officers had left the palace, declaring they would 
die rather than suffer any harm to come to him or 
his papa and mamma; and that at that very time 
they were all dining at the theatre. 

“ ‘ Dining in the theatre, mamma ? ’ said the young 
Prince. * I never heard of people dining in a theatre ! ’ 
' No, my dear child,’ replied Her Majesty, 'it is 
not generally allowed ; but they are doing so because 
the body-guards are giving a dinner to this good 
Flanders regiment ; and the Flanders regiment are 
so brave that the guards chose the finest place they 
could think of to entertain them in, to show how much 
they like them : that is the reason why they are 
dining in the gay, painted theatre.’ 

“ ' Oh, mamma ! ’ exclaimed the Dauphin, whom 
the Queen adored, * oh, papa ! ’ cried he, looking at 
the King, ‘ how I should like to see them ! ’ ‘ Let us 

go and satisfy the child,’ said the King, instantly 
starting up from his seat. The Queen took the 
Dauphin by the hand, and they proceeded to the 
theatre. It was all done in a moment. There was no 
premeditation on the part of the King or Queen; no 
invitation on the part of the officers. 

“ On the royal family making their appearance, 


254 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


they were received with the most unequivocal shouts 
of general enthusiasm by the troops. Intoxicated with 
the pleasure of seeing their Majesties among them, 
and overheated with the juice of the grape, they gave 
themselves up to every excess of joy, which the cir¬ 
cumstances and the situation of their Majesties were 
so well calculated to inspire. * Oh, Richard! oh, 
mon roi !' was sung, as well as many other loyal 
songs. The healths of the King, Queen, and Dauphin 
were drunk, till the regiments were really inebriated 
with the mingled influence of wine and shouting 
Vivas ! 

“ The King and Dauphin were delighted ; but the 
Queen, in giving Princess Elisabeth and myself an 
account of the festival, foresaw the fatal result which 
would ensue; and deeply deplored the marked en¬ 
thusiasm with which they had been greeted and 
followed by the military.” 

It was this scene of enthusiasm, this symptom of 
reaction of public sympathy in favour of the royal 
family, that caused an outburst of fury at Paris, and 
made the Revolutionary leaders determine on getting 
the King and Queen, with their children, to the 
Tuileries and keeping them there. 

Maddened by privations, the unredressed wrongs of 
centuries, the pressure of organized agitation, and the 
sudden passion for violence that has always been 
latent in a Parisian mob, an immense undisciplined 
rabble, the dregs of the people, the criminals, the 
drunkards, the insane, set out in confused ranks for 
Versailles. The eleven miles that separate the palace 
from the streets of Paris were covered with the stragg¬ 
ling, shouting horde, slaves in the intoxication of 
loosened chains, vaguely determined to see the King 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 255 

and Queen, and to kill them, or carry them away 
prisoners. 

The Queen that day had gone to Petit Trianon. 
Her whole spirit was shaken, but she was still con¬ 
fident in the ultimate triumph of the King’s cause, 
still believing that tranquillity would be restored. 
Imagination goes with the Queen on this walk, 
follows her tall figure drawing away, as she always 
loved to do, from the many voices, the ceremonies of 
Versailles, and attended by a single servant, going 
down from the terraces, across the park, and gaining 
the dear gardens of Trianon. There were directions 
to give the gardener for the coming spring, for it was 
now October. The colours had turned and faded. 
The sunless day showed no matchless autumn glories ; 
the paths and glades were dank with falling leaves. 
Everything was desolate. The damp turned to rain— 
the sad, leaden rain of autumn. She sought shelter 
in her little grotto and sat there, alone with her 
thoughts. Trianon had been the home of her heart. 
She never saw it again. A messenger crossed the 
park, bringing her a letter : 

“ The people of Paris are in arms and on the march 
to Versailles. The town is in an uproar. The van of 
the procession is already in sight, on the road to the 
palace. Within an hour they will storm the gates.” 

She walked swiftly back across the park. The 
King had spent the morning hunting at Meudon, 
whence he had been hurriedly summoned. Madame 
Elisabeth came from her home at Montreuil. There 
was no confusion, no panic. Plans of escape were 
discussed, but the King rejected them all. He would 
countenance nothing that might lead to civil war. 

At night Lafayette appeared with the National 


256 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Guard, 1 twenty thousand strong, and a crowd of rioters. 
He brought with him a sense of security. He assured 
the King of his safety, retired with his troops to the 
town of Versailles, and left the palace unguarded. 

The Queen, without any sign of agitation, went as 
usual to her children’s room and saw them safely 
asleep. She then retired and went to sleep herself. 

At five in the morning every one in the palace was 
roused by shouts and cries outside the windows and the 
sound of guns firing. Very soon the noise was in the 
palace itself ; the mob had broken in. The leaders 
stormed through the galleries and rooms, trying to 
find the Queen. The members of the King’s body¬ 
guard stood to their posts. Two were instantly 
murdered, the others overborne and flung aside. 

The royal family assembled in the King’s room, 
only expecting the end. Then Lafayette appeared. 
“ Madame,” he said to the Queen, “ the people call 
for you to come out on the balcony.” She hesitated 
a single moment, and he added, <f It is necessary to 
restore peace.” 

“ Then I will go anywhere, even to death.” 

Levelled guns were threatening the windows of the 
palace, but she stepped out on the balcony in face of 
them, leading by the hand the little Dauphin and 
Madame Roy ale. 

‘'No children ! no children ! ” screamed a thousand 
voices. She gently pushed the little son and daughter 
into the room behind her, and with her hands resting 


1 The National Guard was formed from a citizen army created by 
Lafayette, and was intended to counterbalance the King’s troops. 
Forty-eight thousand citizens enrolled in a single day. The en¬ 
thusiasm spread all over France, and Lafayette found himself chief 
of an army of three million men. 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


257 


on the iron balustrade of the balcony, faced death alone. 
The guns were lowered. Such courage carried weight 
even there. A cry went up, “ Vive la Reine ! ” But 
the loyal cry was soon drowned in a hoarser shout, 
“ To Paris, to Paris ! ” For that these ragged hordes 
of humanity had trudged the long miles to Versailles. 
They would not go back without their prey. There 
was no choice left. Conquerors for the moment, 
everything was in their hands. 

Louis came out and joined the Queen on the balcony. 
They stood side by side while he called to the mob, 
“ We will go to Paris ! ” For the last time the pair are 
seen at liberty ; from thenceforth till death they were 
to be prisoners. And this moment, when personal 
liberty was swept away, when they stood helpless in 
the whirl of adversities, was the great moment when 
all their noble qualities leapt into view, never to be 
obscured. Through all time they stand there to stir 
the wonder of humanity : Louis, who had been com¬ 
monplace, inert, unprincely, dull of understanding; 
and his wife, who had been pleasure-loving, indiscreet, 
proud, self-willed. Faced with the threat of instant 
death, with the loss of everything that had made life 
dear, they are suddenly transformed into immortal 
heroic figures, beyond pity, beyond blame, tranquil, 
dignified, valorous—as high above the common ruck 
of humanity as beings from another world. 

Happy for them and for their children, happy for 
France, from whose story the stain of their long 
torture can never be effaced, could swift death have 
overtaken them in that exalted moment. But the 
sudden merciful death was withheld. The lowered guns 
were not lifted again. No hand was raised to kill. They 
were to drink to the depths the cup of their martyrdom. 
i7 


258 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


The royal carriages was brought, and at one o’clock 
began one of the most dreadful journeys that history 
records. It lasted for six hours. The King and 
Queen, with the two children, the King’s brother, 
d’Artois and his wife, Madame Elisabeth, and Madame 
de Tourzel, were in the first coach. Their suite and 
servants followed. Then came a hundred of the 
Deputies of the National Assembly, and the Parisian 
army brought up the rear. 

Round the King’s carriage, which could only proceed 
at a foot’s pace, the worst of the mob jostled and 
pranced. The lowest offscourings of the people, both 
men and women, leered in at the windows, and kept up 
a fusillade of insulting and deafening cries. “ We shall 
no longer want bread ! We have the baker, the baker’s 
wife, and the baker’s boy with us ! ” 

The advanced guard was formed of the ringleaders, 
and these carried on pikes the still dripping heads of 
the King’s murdered body-guards. 

The two little children were witnesses of all this 
horror—snatched in a moment from the innocent play 
that was all their experience, and thrust into acute 
danger, into the sight of blood, the sight of murder, 
the sight of uncontrolled hatred. The dread journey 
came to an end at last. Utterly exhausted, the royal 
party was escorted to the Tuileries. 

The palace of the Tuileries had been deserted by the 
Bourbons for nearly seventy years. There was very 
little furniture there. The first night there were no 
beds for anybody but the two little children. 

In the morning there was still noise and confusion 
in and about the palace, and hoarse hostile voices cry¬ 
ing outside. The little Dauphin, bewildered by late 
events, asked his mother, “ Is to-day still yesterday ? ” 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


259 


Looking about on the very dull surroundings, which 
were in great contrast to the luxury he had known, the 
little boy said, “ Everything is very ugly here.” The 
Queen replied, “ Louis XIV lived here, and we must be 
satisfied with what was good enough for him.” 

There was no privacy. Anyone walking in the 
gardens of the Tuileries could look in at the windows. 
During all the first day the Queen went repeatedly to 
the windows to speak to the hordes of excited women 
who had helped to bring her to the Tuileries. Even 
these hearts were won by her unconquerable gentleness 
and patience. They begged for the ribbons she wore. 
As the days passed, she was left more in peace. 

Life went on at the Tuileries according to the 
usual routine, with daily lessons. The little girl 
and boy would not realize that they were prisoners. 
The winter went by. In the summer, permission was 
obtained from the Government for the removal of the 
whole party to the retreat of St. Cloud. 

It was almost the last glimpse even of pretended 
liberty. The next year permission was again obtained 
for the Court to leave Paris, but the populace sur¬ 
rounded the royal carriages in the streets on their 
way to St. Cloud. Led by the National Guard, the 
more furious spirits levelled muskets at the King, 
and attacked his attendants. It was impossible to 
proceed, and the royal party endured the humiliation 
of returning to the Tuileries as prisoners in the hands 
of the mob. 

“ It was on this occasion,” writes the King’s brother, 
the comte de Provence, " that I first saw my niece in 
her true colours. . . . She was then twelve years old, 
and stood alone in the centre of this miserable circle. 
Her expression as she flitted from her father’s side to 


260 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


her mother or her aunt, showed that she was well 
aware of her position, but rose above it; tears were 
in her eyes, but her lips were smiling. Her innocent 
caresses, her tender thought for us all, and her com¬ 
forting words were as balm upon our wounds. When 
she came to me I clasped her in my arms, # Oh, my 
child, may Heaven give you all the happiness that is 
denied to your unhappy family.’ ” 

The acute danger in which the royal family stood 
was now very fully revealed. Plots for escape were 
formed. One of these took definite shape. It was 
resolved by the King to take advantage of the devotion 
of his friends, and escape to the Flemish frontier. 
Once out of France, all the powers of Europe would 
rally to his call. 

The day fixed was 20 June, 1791. The King and 
Queen held the usual evening ceremonies, and went to 
bed. When all was quiet in the palace, the Queen 
rose and awoke her children. 

“ They dressed my brother as a little girl,” writes 
Madame Roy ale; “ he looked beautiful, but was so 
sleepy that he could not stand, and did not know what 
we were all about. I asked him what he thought we 
were going to do : he answered, ‘ I suppose to act a 
play, since we have all got these odd dresses.’ 

“ At half-past ten, when we were all ready, my 
mother 1 herself conducted us to the carriage in the 
middle of the court, which was exposing herself to 
great risk. Madame de Tourzel, my brother, and I 
got into the carriage ; M. de Fersen was the coachman. 

1 Madame Royale’s memory failed her in this particular. The 
Queen did not go with her children to the carriage. The delay in 
starting the coach was caused by her losing her way on foot between 
the Tuileries and the Place du Carousel. 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


261 


“ To deceive anyone that might follow us, we drove 
about several streets; at last we returned to the 
Little Carousel, which is close to the Tuileries. My 
brother was fast asleep in the bottom of the carriage, 
under the petticoats of Madame de Tourzel. We saw 
M. de Lafayette go by, who had been at my father’s 
coucher. There we remained waiting a full hour, 
ignorant of what was going on ; never did time appear 
so tedious. Madame de Tourzel was to travel under 
the name of the Baroness de Korff; my brother and 
I were to be her two daughters, under the names of 
Amelia and Aglae; my mother was to be Madame 
Rocher, our governess ; my aunt a female companion 
called Rosalie, and my father was to be our valet de 
chambre, under the name of Durand. At last, after 
waiting a long hour, I observed a woman loitering 
about the carriage. I was afraid that we should be 
discovered; but I was made easy by seeing our 
coachman open the carriage door, and that the woman 
was my aunt; she had escaped alone with one of her 
own attendants. In stepping into the carriage she 
trod on my brother, who was lying in the bottom of 
it, and he had the courage not to cry out. 

“ My aunt told us that all was quiet, and that my 
father and mother would be with us presently. My 
father, indeed, arrived very soon after, and then my 
mother, with one of the body-guards who was to 
accompany us. We then proceeded and reached the 
barrier without any event: there a travelling-carriage 
had been prepared for us, but M. de Fersen did not 
know where it was, so that we were obliged to wait a 
long while, and my father even got out to look for it, 
which alarmed us very much. At last M. de Fersen 
found the other carriage, and we got into it. M. de 


262 CHILDREN OF FRANCE 

Fersen took leave of my father, and made his 
escape.” 

“ When once we have passed Chalon,” the King said, 
“ we shall be safe.” 

At places on the route troops were sent to meet 
them. The long delay in starting had thrown the 
plans into confusion, and the troops never found the 
royal carriage. All the preparations were carelessly 
made and clumsily carried out. The only matter for 
wonder is, that the royalties ever got as far as Varennes. 

The journey, as far as the children were concerned, 
was no terrifying flight. It was amusing to be dressed 
up, to see the parents acting the part of servants, and 
Madame de Tourzel assuming authority. A certain 
fatal leisureliness had marked every stage of prepara¬ 
tion for the flight, as if the gravity of the situation was 
never fully grasped. At the long, steep hills the 
lumbering coach stopped, and Madame de Tourzel 
would get out with the children and let them walk 
up. The King walked too. He stood chatting at 
the post-houses, and talked to peasants by the way. 
During the drive there was much cheerful conversation, 
future plans were discussed, little jokes were made. 

At Sainte Menehould, where the horses were changed, 
a man, Drouet, a keen Revolutionary, son of the local 
postmaster, caught sight of the King’s face and 
recognized him. Instantly he resolved on betrayal. 
He rode across country to Varennes, which was to be 
the fugitives’ next post, and gave the alarm. 

Varennes was a miserable little place. The in¬ 
habitants, in a state of great excitement, awaited the 
King’s carriage, which was confronted by a barricaded 
bridge. The threatening crowd surrounded the carriage, 
and the King and Queen were obliged to get out and 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


263 


take refuge for the night in a grocer’s shop. All hope 
was really at an end. Drums sounded, alarm bells 
rang, a tumultuous crowd of peasants surrounded the 
house where they were imprisoned. This humiliating 
siege had to be endured for eight hours. 

It is the first sight of Marie Antoinette in sordid 
surroundings. Realization that all the mock simpli¬ 
cities she had affected at Trianon had been the merest 
pretence was thrust upon her during those hours in 
the upper chamber of the grocer’s shop, when, after 
she had put the children to sleep, she leaned on a 
package of tallow candles, and passed the night in 
agonized discussion on possible means of escape, with 
Madame Sauce, the grocer’s wife. Early in the morning 
a decree came from Paris, ordering the return of the 
King and his family. 

All got into the carriage again, and the return 
journey was accomplished, but in the midst of open 
hostility and insult in every village passed. 

Two noted Revolutionaries, Barnave and Petion, 
were sent as commissioners from the National As¬ 
sembly in Paris, to bring back the fugitive royalties. 
These men insisted on sitting in the already crowded 
coach. 

The children must have shared the discomforts and 
the dire sense of tragedy on this journey. They were 
witnesses of the flaming anger, the tears, the despairs, 
and Marie Th6rese was old enough to be alive to the 
burning hostility which greeted them on all sides ; 
but the little Dauphin sat on his mother’s knee and 
played with the buttons on Barnave’s coat. The child 
was very proud of being able to make out the motto 
stamped upon them. “ It says, * We will live free 
or die,’ ” he said. Barnave, completely enthralled by 


264 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


the mother’s charm, made much of the boy. On their 
return to Paris, reinstated at the Tuileries, the position 
of the King and Queen was greatly altered for the 
worse. They were never allowed to forget that they 
were prisoners. 

A ceaseless watch was kept over all their movements 
at the palace. An officer spent each night in an arm¬ 
chair before the open door of the Queen’s bedroom. 

The Princesse de Lamballe was on her way to 
England when she heard of the arrest at Varennes. 
The Queen, who knew what her impulse would be, 
wrote entreating her not to come back to the Tuileries, 
but she was not to be persuaded. She hurried thither. 

All Court privileges were abolished. There was 
actual danger and no advantage in remaining in the 
royal service. Many of the most trusted attendants 
forsook the Tuileries. The Queen’s circle became 
daily smaller. 

The Assembly submitted a new Constitution to the 
King. Everything to do with rank and privilege 
was abolished ; titles, ceremonies. Court customs were 
swept clear. The Deputies of the Assembly did not 
even rise when the King entered the Hall. Lafayette, 
Barnave, and others who supported the monarchy, 
advised Louis to ratify the Constitution. On 14 Sep¬ 
tember, 1791, the King went to the Assembly to take 
the oath of fidelity. 

A few days later, on the Champ de Mars, the new 
Constitution was solemnly proclaimed. An immense 
crowd gathered. Many thought it was the end of 
the Revolution ; there were fetes and illuminations. 
The royal family, from whom the Constitution had 
wrested every shred of power, was expected to share 
in the rejoicings. Louis and Marie Antoinette, with 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


265 


the two children, drove through the garlanded streets, 
escorted by the National Guard, at a foot’s pace. The 
dense crowd round the carriage shouted, “ Vive le 
Roil” but “ Vive la Nation!” was the counter-cry. 
The Queen held the little Dauphin high in her arms 
that every one might see the rosy, blue-eyed, laughing 
boy. 

For a few months, after the King had accepted the 
Constitution, no increasing rancour was shown against 
him. A little more liberty was allowed. The Queen 
drove out daily with the children. 

Even in these dark days of humiliation and sur¬ 
render, she must have known happiness and pride 
in her children, and especially in the Dauphin, with 
his boyish beauty, his cleverness, and his loving ways. 
No Child of France shows a more engaging personality 
than Louis Charles, who was destined to so appalling 
an end. His mother had always busied herself with 
every detail of his play, his work, and his health. 

Unconscious of danger and sorrow, the little Dauphin 
contrived to have a great deal of enjoyment at the 
Tuileries. He had his own little garden, 1 a strip of 
land between the palace and the Seine. Here he 
planted and dug. There was also a summer-house, 
and he had chickens and ducks of his own. He used 
to go to this little garden every day under military 
escort. The soldiers adored him. The supreme joy 
was to get up early and go to the garden to pick a 
bunch of flowers for his mother. 

1 This same little garden which Louis XVI gave to his son, was 
given by Napoleon to the little King of Rome, by Charles X to his 
grandson the due de Bordeaux, and by Louis Philippe to the comte 
de Paris, so that it belonged in turn to four boys all destined to lives 
of misfortune. 


266 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


He would creep very quietly to her bedside and 
lay the little bouquet close to her pillow. She was 
always supposed to be asleep. Then he would go and 
hide himself. Presently the mother would pretend 
to stir in her sleep, open her eyes, and see the flowers. 

“ My little son is somewhere near,” she would say. 
Then he would rush joyfully out of his hiding-place. 
The same little comedy delighted him every day, 
and was doubtless equally appreciated by Marie 
Antoinette. 

Some attendant was so totally lacking in imagina¬ 
tion as to ask the child why he picked his bouquet and 
brought it to the Queen, pointing out that she had 
always plenty of other flowers. 

“ She likes mine best,” was the confident and true 
reply. 

The Assembly had now almost complete power in 
France. The King signed everything he was asked, and, 
at command, declared war against Austria, who, with 
Prussia, had demanded that Louis should be restored 
to the full privileges of his throne, and that the Church 
money should be returned to the Church. Three 
large armies were dispatched to defend the frontiers. 

So far, the King had made no stand, but the next 
suggested step he refused to take. The Assembly 
proposed to declare all the emigrant nobles of France 
traitors, to seize their property, and to arrest all the 
clergy who did not submit to the new Constitution. 
The King refused to sanction such rank tyranny. 

Urged by the Assembly, the Parisian mob rose, 
and headed by a violent republican named Santerre, 
forced a way into the Tuileries. 

Armed with knives, scythes, pikes, any weapon 
that came to hand, the surging crowd of maddened 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


267 


creatures assembled at the Place de la Bastille, and, 
rushing to the palace, burst through all barriers and 
flung into the King’s presence. This was the riot of 
20 June, 1792. 

He met them like the King he was, without fear. 
His body-guard induced him to take shelter in the 
deep embrasure of a window, behind a barricade of 
furniture. The intruders, pressing upon him, insisted 
that he should put on the Red Cap of liberty, and he 
did so, knowing how little it meant, how little it mattered 
one way or the other. He put it on at command, and 
forgot to take it off. 

The Queen had tried to join the King, but was 
forcibly kept back by her attendants. " My place is 
with the King ; I must die by his side.” 

" Your place is with your children,” was the reply. 
She was in the Salon Louis XIV, and the two children 
with her. A huge table protected them, but the 
furious mob surged into the room, insulting, threaten¬ 
ing, mocking. 

The Dauphin sat on the table. The women in the 
crowd could not help admiring the beautiful little 
boy. Some one cried to his mother, “ If you love 
the nation, put the Red Cap on the head of your 
son ! ” 

The Dauphin was a little frightened—he clung to 
her, but seeing her smiling, let her put the Red Cap on 
his curls. It was Santerre himself who removed it. 

The riot lasted all day. 1 It was night before the 


1 The great Napoleon was a witness of the riot. “ On the 20th 
June I was in Paris," he writes, “ and I saw the populace marching 
upon the Tuileries. . . . When I was told that Louis had put the 
Red Cap of liberty on his head I came to the conclusion that he had 
ceased to reign, for in politics there is no resurrection." 


268 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


last of the drunken crew was persuaded to leave the 
wrecked palace. 

When the mob had gone, some of the Deputies 
remained in conversation with the Queen. Utterly 
worn out as she must have been at the close of such a 
day, she summoned her old attraction, the persuasive 
charm that had won so many hearts, and that availed 
her so little, to try to win these men. It was im¬ 
possible for her to refrain from drawing them into 
sympathy. After so many hours of heroic courage, 
she showed herself not as a queen, or as an injured 
woman, but simply as a mother. "Will these gentle¬ 
men come and see me put the Dauphin to bed ? ” 

The child slept in a little room that opened into 
her own. The Deputies followed her and saw her go 
through the little ceremony. The Dauphin was very 
tired, for it was long past his bedtime. 

"Tell the gentlemen you love the nation, darling.” 

" I love the nation,” said the Dauphin, half 
asleep. 

But though the grace of Marie Antoinette might 
enthral a group of Deputies, there was no hope of any 
reaction in her favour from the national councils of 
France. If help came, it must be by the intervention 
of the powers of Europe. The dwellers in the palace 
knew no moment of peace and security, and the blood¬ 
less riot of 20 June was followed by the great and 
bloody insurrection of 16 August, 1792, which finally 
extinguished all glimmer of hope for the monarchy. 

The story of that outrage, the confusions of that 
terrible day, have been told and retold. Disentangling 
the part played by the Children of France, it is possible 
to catch sight here and there, amid the blood and 
thunder, the brutal strength and passionate ex- 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


269 


pressions of the frantic mob, of their frail forms and 
their innocent faces. 

The brother and sister must have been asleep when 
the alarm bell pealed at midnight and the palace 
awaited the attack. There was some sense of security, 
for the devoted Swiss Guards were on the alert, guard¬ 
ing the palace, and the National Guards were thought 
to be loyal. Surely the disorganized rabble of towns¬ 
people could be repulsed. Shots began to be heard 
and a growing tumult in the streets. At daylight the 
children were awake and dressed. They went with 
the King and Queen into the garden, where some 
regiments of artillery were to be reviewed. There 
was no loyalty there. Some of the soldiers shook their 
fists in the King’s face. He was pale, but perfectly 
calm. Both he and the Queen expected almost instant 
death. 

The mob broke into the precincts of the palace at 
about eight o’clock. There were no soldiers among 
them, or any guns. Within the courtyard were the 
thousand Swiss Guards, immovable, waiting to do 
their duty. A sound of an immense tumult grew and 
swelled. The King, the Queen, and their children, 
Princess Elisabeth, Madame de Lamballe, and 
Madame de Tourzel, abandoned their rooms on the 
first floor, where they could no longer be protected. 
“ We shall come back,” the Queen said. In reality 
they were leaving the palace for ever under a strong 
escort; they crossed by the garden to the Parliament 
House, where they were for the moment safe. The 
King walked in front, down the broad path. The 
Queen followed, holding the Dauphin by the hand, 
who kicked at the dead leaves. He seemed tired, and 
one of the escort, a Grenadier, picked him up in his 


270 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


arms and carried him till the whole party reached 
the Hall of the Parliament, where, though the crowd 
surged to the very doors, they were assured of pro¬ 
tection. The King took up his usual position beside 
the Speaker. The whole party could not sit through 
the debates, and therefore they were escorted to a 
box or gallery, where the official reporters always sat 
to make theii shorthand notes.. It was an unventilated 
little place, and grew intolerably hot. There the Queen 
and her children, with Madame Elisabeth, spent the 
day. At nine o’clock they heard the firing begin. 

The fight was soon a massacre. One of the finest 
things in history is the steadfast defence maintained 
by the Swiss Guards, till one by one they were mur¬ 
dered at their posts. Everything was over by ten 
o’clock. The King himself signed the order for 
capitulation. The Tuileries was in the hands of the 
mob. The French monarchy, so many centuries old, 
was a thing of the past. 

Hour after hour the little party in the suffocating 
reporters’ box waited and agonized. The whole 
dread day passed, the little boy lying exhausted on 
his mother’s knee, asleep now and then. At two in 
the morning relief came. Under the same strong 
escort, the royal party was hurried across the garden 
to the shelter of the deserted Monastery of the Feuill- 
ants. 1 The Dauphin woke in the cool air. “ I am to 
sleep in mamma’s room to-night.” The treat had 
been promised him, because he had been very good, 
and it did not trouble him that his mother’s lodging 
for the night was only a dark and deserted cell. 

1 The Monastery of the Feuillants, and the Riding School, which 
was then used for the meeting of the National Assembly, were 
situated on the space now made into the Rue de Rivoli. 


CHILDREN OF ADVERSITY 


271 


Three days were passed in this way—by day in 
the stifling reporters’ box, listening to the debates of 
the Parliament as to their custody, by night in the 
dank corridors of the monastery. It was understood 
now that the struggle was between the City and 
Parliament—each desiring to be responsible for the 
captives. The City triumphed, and decreed that the 
place of detention should be the Temple. On 13 
August two great coaches, the last vestiges of the royal 
equipage they were ever to see, were brought to carry 
them thither. The distance from the Monastery of 
the Feuillants to the Temple was something over a 
mile. The journey occupied two hours, so dense was 
the mass of people, so impassable the streets. The 
statue of Louis XIV lay fallen in the Place Vendome. 
Throughout the city, by order of Authority, the 
statues of all the Kings were overthrown. The air 
was full of cries of triumph, the confused noises of a 
whole populace in furious excitement. 

As the great state coach moved heavily forward, the 
two little children, frightened and bewildered, sat 
watching their parents, who did not speak any more 
to them or to each other. Louis and Marie Antoinette 
sat silently side by side, driving together for the last 
time through their city of Paris. Everything had been 
wrested from them. There was nothing left but to 
obey, to bow the head to the great storm that was 
carrying them whither they knew not. Their voices 
were still now, with the exalted stillness of souls that 
summon from the depths of being their last reserve of 
fortitude. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 

L OUIS XVI, with his family, reached the palace 
of the Temple at seven o’clock in the evening of 
13 August, 1792. 

The whole palace was illuminated for their recep¬ 
tion, as it had often been before, when the King’s 
brother, the comte d’Artois, whose residence it was, 
had given splendid entertainments there to please 
Marie Antoinette. 

The Temple consisted of two buildings. There was 
the palace itself, and standing in the garden, at a dis¬ 
tance of two hundred paces, a great square mediaeval 
tower, with a round turret at each corner. It was 
150 feet high, with four stories, supported in the 
middle by one great pillar from the foundation to 
the top. The whole area was not more than 30 feet 
square. The building was centuries old, and had been 
the head-quarters of the Knights Templar. Another 
and a later building had been added to the square 
tower, much lower and smaller. It looked like a little 
house leaning against the massive keep. 

It was at first thought that the palace itself was 
to serve as the royal prison, but late at night the family, 
after partaking of a ceremonious supper, provided by 
the Commune, was conducted across the garden to the 

272 



THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 
From an engraving in the Carnavalet Museum 
















THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 273 


smaller tower, which was the only part that was 
furnished. Nothing was ready for them there. The 
little Dauphin was overcome with sleep, but it was 
eleven o’clock before Madame de Tourzel could get a 
bed made up for him. Madame Elisabeth slept in a 
disused kitchen. A few attendants had been allowed 
to follow the family, such as the children’s nurses, the 
Queen’s maids, and the King’s valets. The Princesse 
de Lamballe, faithful in adversity, remained resolutely 
at the Queen’s side. 

Better arrangements were soon made for the comfort 
of the prisoners, but at the best the quarters available 
were cramped and inadequate. The walls of the tower 
were nine feet thick, and the windows so small and dim, 
that the prisoners were obliged to inquire daily of their 
guards as to what kind of weather prevailed outside. 

It is possible that the first days in the Temple, 
when for the first time Louis and Marie Antoinette, 
captives so long, realized what captivity meant, 
brought a sense of relief. It was a shelter after the 
acute dangers, the public rage, the insane hostility, 
flaming into bloodshed, which had surged round the 
little group for three dreadful days and nights. Here 
at least they were protected, and, except for the 
distant clamour of the streets, there was respite from 
the ceaseless noise. There was no further need for 
rapid judgment and decisive action. The quiet was 
almost like peace. 

For the children’s sake it was essential to keep 
terrors and anxieties in the background. An appear¬ 
ance of order and routine must be maintained. 

After the personal attendants of the family had 
been removed, Marie Antoinette attended to the 
children herself. The pictures of the proud and 
18 


274 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


beautiful Queen dressing the Dauphin, hearing him 
say his prayers, arranging his little lessons and his 
games, mending his clothes, are the most appealing 
of any that her story shows. The instincts of wife 
and mother rose above the old false traditions of royal 
life, for these were the dominant instincts of her 
nature. She was greater here than in the old sur¬ 
roundings, much more noble, much more rare. Once, 
she had tried to create the simplicities of home among 
the artificial splendours of the Court. Now, in the 
midst of crushing anxieties, she was called upon to 
give to cramped and sordid surroundings the dignity 
and tranquillity of home. It is the measure of her 
womanliness that she succeeded. 

“ We all passed the day together,” records Madame 
Royale. “ My father taught my brother geography ; 
my mother, history, and to get verses by heart; and 
my aunt gave him little lessons in arithmetic. My 
father had fortunately found a library, which amused 
him, and my mother worked tapestry. 

“ The Municipal officers were very familiar, and 
showed little respect even for the King : one of them 
always kept sight of him. 

“ My father asked to have a man and woman sent 
in to do the coarser kind of menial work. 

" The night between the 19 and 20 August, a new 
order of the Commune directed the removal from the 
Temple of all the persons who were not of the royal 
family. 

“ MM. Hue and Chamilly were removed from my 
father, who remained alone with a Municipal officer. 
They then came down to carry away Madame de 
Lamballe. My mother strongly opposed this, saying 
(what indeed was true) that this princess was of the 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 


275 


royal family; they nevertheless carried her away. 
My aunt went down with Madame de Navarre and 
Pauline de Tourzel; the Municipal officers promised 
that these ladies should return when they had been 
examined. My brother was taken into his mother’s 
apartment, that he might not be left alone. The 
Queen could not tear herself from the arms of Madame 
de Lamballe. We embraced all these ladies, hoping, 
however, to see them again next day, and we all four 
passed the night without sleep. My father, though 
awake, also remained in his bed-chamber, and the 
Municipal officers never left him. Next day, at 
seven o’clock, we learned that the ladies would not 
return to the Temple, and that they had been taken to 
the prison of La Force; but we were very much 
surprised, at nine o’clock, to see M. Hue return, who 
said that the council-general of the Commune had 
pronounced him innocent, and sent him back to the 
Temple. After dinner, Petion sent a man of the name 
of Tison, and his wife, to do the coarse work. My 
mother took my brother into her own room, and sent 
me with my aunt into another. We were only separ¬ 
ated from my mother by a little room, where a Muni¬ 
cipal officer and a sentinel were placed. My father 
remained above stairs. Having learned that they were 
preparing another apartment for him—which he by 
no means wished for, because he would be thereby 
still farther removed from his family—he sent for 
Palloi, the foreman of the labourers, to prevent the 
work being proceeded with ; but Palloi replied in¬ 
solently, that he received no orders but from the 
Commune. 

“ We went up every morning to the King’s apart¬ 
ment to breakfast; and afterwards the whole family 


276 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


returned to the Queen’s, where the King passed the 
day. We went every day to walk in the garden, for 
the sake of my brother’s health, where the King was 
always insulted by the guard. On the feast of St. 
Louis, at seven o’clock in the morning, ' Ca Ira ’ was 
sung under the walls of the Temple.” 

The first days in the tower were not all dark. Hope 
was strong still in the hearts of the captives. The 
Allied Powers of Europe were going to invade France. 
All this adversity would come to an end. The in¬ 
furiated people would awake from their mad¬ 
ness. 

In spite of all the precautions of their guards, news 
from outside reached the prisoners now and again. 
The invaders were meeting with success. Longwy 
was taken by the Allies. Verdun had surrendered. 
The spirit of the Revolution, thus threatened, rose 
into frenzy. The frightful events of 2 September 
were the result : events a thousand times worse than 
the noisy insurrections that had twice overwhelmed 
the Tuileries. Republican authority lost all sense of 
justice, all pity, all decency. To find any parallel to 
the horrors, we must go back to the Eve of St. 
Bartholomew. Like that tragedy, the event was 
inspired by panic. The dread “ Committee of Public 
Safety ” was formed, and wholesale arrests and im¬ 
prisonments began. The gates of the city were closed, 
that no one suspected as an enemy of the Republic, 
or as friendly to the monarchy, might escape. For the 
frightful scenes that followed, Marat must be held 
guilty as the first instigator. Danton claimed to have 
been chief actor. <f I looked my crime steadfastly in 
the face,” he said, “ and I did it.” Graves were dug, 
executioners hired. At seven prisons in Paris a mock 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 277 


tribunal was set up. One by one the prisoners were 
brought out and swiftly questioned. As they passed 
out from their judges into the courtyards of the prisons, 
assassins were waiting for them. From prison to 
prison the band of murderers went. In two days a 
thousand prisoners were murdered. The massacre 
continued for four days ; the number of victims will 
never be known. On 3 September the prison of La 
Force was visited. There the Princesse de Lamballe 
had been shut up when she was removed from her 
attendance on the Queen in the Temple. Her fate 
was decided long before she appeared before her judges. 
Hurried like the others into the courtyard of the 
prison, she was instantly struck down and her body 
mutilated by the frantic crowd. Her head, with its 
long fair hair powdered and the face rouged, was 
carried by the mob on a long pole to the walls of the 
Tower of the Temple and there held up before the 
windows that the Queen might see. 

Everywhere the peasants had risen against the 
nobles. Everywhere the guillotine was set up; 
everywhere the red tide of terror and blood lust 
rose. 

Louis XVI never had any doubt as to how things 
would end for himself. He faced death, as he had 
always faced danger, with immovable calm. With 
measured words, with unaltered mien, he watched his 
children at play, walked with them in the garden, 
taught his little son, talked gently to his wife and 
sister. In the evening there was music, a game of 
backgammon or “ tric-trac.” For the sake of the 
children the prison was made, not a scene of lamenta¬ 
tion, but a place of quiet routine. No unkingly word 
ever came from the lips of the prisoners of the Temple, 


278 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


no outcry upon Fate, no frenzied prayers, no im¬ 
passioned appeal. 

“ Out of the night they spoke, 

Defeated creatures who had suffered wrong 
But were still noble underneath the stroke.” 

On 29 September, Hebert, the extremist of the 
extreme party, entered the apartments of Louis and 
read an order that he was to be separated from his 
family, and shut into a different set of rooms. Know¬ 
ing that the move meant some disaster, the King suffered 
the parting in bitter grief. The Queen could neither 
eat nor sleep for her distress. Soon the meaning of 
the new tyranny appeared. The King was to be 
brought to trial. 

Marie Antoinette was allowed no communication 
with her husband, except for one brief note he sent 
her at the dreary Christmas time. Still order and 
routine were maintained in her tiny household. She 
had her children, her beloved Elisabeth, the daily 
occupations ; they made even a little music. 

The King’s trial was going on. News of his con¬ 
demnation and of the death penalty pronounced, 
reached the prison on 17 January, 1793. The sentence 
was read to the King, who received it calmly. He was 
denied any respite. 

“ About seven o’clock in the evening,” writes Madame 
Royale, “ we learned the sentence by the newsmen, 
who came crying it under our windows. A decree of 
the Convention permitted us to see the King. We 
ran to his apartment, and found him much altered ; 
he wept for us, and not for fear of death ; he related 
his trial to my mother, apologizing for the wretches 
who had condemned him ; he told her that it was 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 279 


proposed to attempt to save him by having recourse 
to the primary Assemblies, but that he would not 
consent lest it should excite confusion in the country. 
He then gave my brother some religious advice, and 
desired him, above all, to forgive those who caused 
his death ; and he gave him his blessing, as well as 
to me. 

“ My mother was very desirous that the whole 
family should pass the night with my father ; but he 
opposed this, observing to her how much he needed 
some hours of repose and quiet. She asked at least 
to be allowed to see him next morning, to which he 
consented. But, when we were gone, he requested 
that we might not be permitted to return, as our 
presence affected him too much. He then remained 
with his confessor till midnight, when he went to bed. 
He slept till he was awakened by the drums at five 
o’clock. At six, the Abbe Edgeworth said Mass, and 
administered the holy sacrament to my father. At 
nine o’clock he left the Temple. . . . 

“ He met one of the turnkeys, whom he had repri¬ 
manded rather sharply the day before : he now said 
to him, ‘ Mathieu, I am sorry for having offended 
you.’ On his way to the scaffold, he read the prayers 
for those at the point of death. On the scaffold, he 
wished to have spoken to the people ; but Santerre 
prevented him by ordering the drums to beat : what 
little he was allowed to say was heard by very few. 
He then undressed himself without assistance. His 
hands were tied, not with a rope, but with his own 
handkerchief. At the instant of death, his confessor 
exclaimed, * Son of St. Louis, ascend to heaven ! ’ 
He received the stroke of death on Sunday, 21 Janu¬ 
ary, 1793, at ten minutes past ten o’clock in the 


280 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


forenoon. Thus died Louis XVI, King of France, at 
the age of thirty-nine years, five months, and three 
days, of which he had reigned eighteen. He had 
been five months and eight days in prison.” 

The immense wave of her grief did not overwhelm 
the spirit of Marie Antoinette. She had been all wife, 
all mother. Now she was a mother still. On the 
night following the King’s execution, sleepless herself, 
she watched the slumbers of the little Dauphin. As 
she bent above his cot she was heard to murmur that 
he was now of the same age as his brother Louis 
Joseph, when he died at Meudon, more than three 
years ago. She dared not let her thoughts go forward. 
“ Those who die earliest are the most blessed,” she 
said. She must have died of grief had she been unable 
to occupy those dark hours with the pathetic routine 
of family cares within those narrow walls, the daily 
duties to her children, the Dauphin’s little lessons, the 
reading, the needlework, the music that helped to make 
home even here. Stricken to the soul, she could still 
spend herself in personal service for those she loved. 

One of the warders of the Temple prison, Lepitre, 
has left a clearly cut picture of one scene. 

Some one had written a song for the Dauphin, after 
the King’s execution. The warder got the song con¬ 
veyed to the prisoners. A week later, Marie Antoinette 
called him into the room occupied by Madame Elisa¬ 
beth, and there he heard the children play and sing it. 
The song was called “ La Piet6 filiale.” 

“Des maux que ton fils a soufferts 
Pourquoi te retracer l’image ? 

Lorsque ma mere les partage 
Puis-je me plaindre de mes fers ? ” 

" The daughter of Louis XVI sat at the harpsichord, 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 


281 


and beside her was her mother with her son in her 
arms, trying, in spite of her tears, to direct the children’s 
playing and singing. Madame Elisabeth stood beside 
her sister. . . . Never will this picture be effaced from 
my memory.” 

In the midst of her own pitiful desolation the Queen 
tried to comfort the children. “ My son,” she said to 
the little boy, “ you should think of the good God.” 
“ I have thought of Him,” said the child, “ but when I 
try to think of God, it is always poor papa who comes 
before my eyes.” 

The one thing impossible to the Queen’s fortitude 
was to pass the closed door of the King’s apartments, 
which were below her own. She therefore never 
walked in the garden again. Her guards found a place 
on the leads of the tower, where the family could at 
least get air, and thither the little group went every 
day. 

After a time the Queen’s imprisonment became more 
rigorous. Robespierre made demand for her trial. 
The Reign of Terror was at hand. 

On 20 April, .in the night, Hebert appeared with 
his companions and for five hours ransacked her 
apartments. The Dauphin was ill, but he had to be 
lifted from his bed, that his mattress might be searched. 
From Elisabeth they took her pencil and her sealing- 
wax, with a little sacred relic she cherished, and a 
prayer for France. 

All the world outside was in the grip of the Terror. 
The names of Danton, Marat, Robespierre, pro¬ 
nounced in agony or in triumph, were on every lip. 
Thousands of innocent men and women were dying 
on the scaffold all over the realm. 

All France did not submit to the ghastly tyrannies 


282 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


of Robespierre without a struggle. The peasants 
of La Vendee, in Brittany, armed themselves, and, 
in the name of the monarchy, kept up a gallant warfare 
against the republican troops. Ultimate defeat was 
inevitable. Fifteen thousand of these brave men and 
women were ferociously executed at the close of 1793. 
To the prisoners in the Temple, this heroic stand of 
La Vendee on their behalf brought only a deeper 
touch of tragedy. In that loyal corner of the kingdom 
the boy Louis Charles had been hailed as Louis XVII. 
The title so given, and so maintained with their blood, 
irritated the Revolutionary despots to further fury. 

On 1 July it was decided to take the Dauphin away 
from the Queen, in order that he might be brought up 
to forget his royal traditions. On 3 July this inhuman 
order was carried out. The authorities sent six of the 
Municipal officers to remove the child. It was at night. 
Marie Therese was reading aloud from a prayer- 
book by candle-light, to her mother and Madame 
Elisabeth, who were mending the children’s clothes. 
The little Dauphin was in bed and fast asleep. His 
mother had hung up a shawl to keep the light from his 
eyes. 

The men tramped into the quiet room. 

“ We have come by order of the House to tell you 
that the separation of Capet’s son from his mother 
has been voted.” 

The Queen stood by the little bed and defended her 
child. She defied the order, reasoned, entreated, 
implored mercy. For the first time she threw aside 
her proud reserve and fought strenuously against her 
fate. Surely God would not permit her to be tried 
beyond what she was able to endure ! Surely, in a 
flood of passionate pleading, she could move the hearts 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 288 


of these men, human creatures like herself ! The noise 
awoke the child, who saw the strangers, and clung to 
his mother. 

“ Why will you make this scene ? No one wants 
to kill your son ! Let him go freely; we could take 
him, if you force us to that! ” 

The Queen knew then that she had failed, and that 
God required this final sacrifice of her will. She lifted 
the child from his bed, dressed him, and kissed him 
for the last time on earth. She let him go. 

Sometimes she saw him still in the distance. Feeble, 
ailing, nervous, she saw him on the roof, playing at 
ball, when his jailers took him there for air. She lived 
for these chances of a distant glimpse of this dear child. 

Madame Royale, the little girl, has left a picture of 
the distracted sorrow of this time. 

“ We often went up to the tower, because my brother 
went there too from the other side ; the only pleasure 
my mother enjoyed was seeing him through a chink 
as he passed at a distance. She would watch at this 
chink for hours together, to see the child as he passed. 
It was her only hope, her only thought.’ 1 

The boy had been given into the care of Simon, a 
shoemaker, and his wife—a coarse, uneducated pair, 
utterly unfitted to have the charge of the sick child. 
Dreadful legends have grown up about active ill-treat¬ 
ment and neglect. 

The authorities stooped to inflict all kinds of small 
torments on the bereaved mother. 

“ Before she had left the Temple, they came to ask 
her for the Dauphin’s clothes. She expressed her 
wish that the son of Louis XVI should not cease to 
wear mourning ; but the first thing Simon did was to 
take away his black coat.” 


284 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


The last time she saw him was in the distance, on 
30 July, two days before she was taken away to the 
Conciergerie. His jailers had cut off his hair ; he was 
wearing the Red Cap of liberty. She heard his voice 
for the last time. He was singing a revolutionary 
song. 

The corroding sorrow was not of long duration. On 
1 August, one month after the boy was taken away, 
the decree went forth that the Queen herself was to be 
brought to trial. On the 2nd she was taken to the 
Conciergerie. When they summoned her she answered 
no word. She went neither gladly nor sorrowfully, 
with serene good-byes to her daughter and to Elisabeth. 
She could not feel any more at the moment; she had 
endured everything. The full cup brimmed and could 
hold no more of -any bitter draught. 

Her prison room at the Conciergerie is still to be 
seen, but so altered that the visitor to-day can form 
little conception of the sordid meanness of it. There 
was no privacy ; day and night a man sat in the corner 
of the cell. There was nothing to do, no resources to 
dull her thoughts. She wished to knit some stockings 
for her little son, but the needles were not allowed. 

Her jailers were gentle There were women here 
not afraid to show her kindness : Madame Richard the 
wife of the porter and a servant girl, Rosalie, who did 
what they could. Under their sympathetic service, 
thought and feeling woke again in her numbed soul. 

Madame Richard had a little boy, Fan-fan, the 
same age as the Dauphin. He was allowed to see the 
Queen ; she talked to him of her son, but she could not 
control her emotion as she did so. So despairing were 
her tears that, in mercy, the child was kept out of her 
sight. 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 285 


The Dauphin’s little glove, with a miniature and 
a lock of his hair inside, hidden in the bosom of her 
dress, she cherished as the last treasures left to her. 
Everything else was taken from her. She used to 
hide behind her little truckle bed, in order to look at 
and handle these pitiful possessions. 

It was 12 October when Marie Antoinette was led 
from her cell to go through the first formalities, and on 
the 14th her trial began. 

Through two dreadful days she sat in the large hall 
of the Conciergerie, before the Revolutionary Tribunal. 
She waited there in her widow’s dress and cap, friend¬ 
less, white-haired, pale, her bearing still marked with 
the majestic distinction of the old days, answering 
clearly and steadily the torrent of bewildering and 
grotesque questions. There she heard the accusation 
against her, which had been obtained by threats and 
atrocious treatment from her little boy of eight years 
old; there she won the momentary reaction in the crowd 
in her favour, alarming her accusers, who had decided 
on her death, by her one passionate moment: “ I appeal 
to all mothers here.” She had the strength and 
serenity of one who has given up all hope and has 
nothing left to fear. Her accusers kept her before 
them all night. Asked if she had anything to say, she 
replied : “ For my defence, nothing; for your remorse, 
much. I was a queen, and you dethroned me. I was 
a wife, and you have killed my husband. I was a 
mother, and you have torn my children away from me. 
There is left only my blood; make haste to shed it, 
that you may be satisfied.” The sentence was pro¬ 
nounced at four in the morning. She left the hall 
with a firm step. 

In her cell, the condemned woman wrote a 


286 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


letter 1 to Madame Elisabeth. Marie Antoinette had 
done with life, but she passed her last night on earth in 
writing the letter that throbs in every line with life, 
and all that life meant to her. Moving a profounder 
emotion than pity, it is one of the great letters of the 
world, one of the immortal expressions of the spirit of 
man which, as long as there are human hearts to suffer 
and understand, will always command response. 
Written in the prospect of immediate death, in all the 
passionate sincerity of such a moment, it is a woman’s 
letter to a woman, irresistibly human in its appeal, as 
it pleads for compassion for the little children she must 
leave. 

“ 16 October, 4.30 a.m. 

“ It is to you, my dear sister, that I write my last 
letter. I have just been sentenced, not to a shameful 
death,—that is only for criminals,—but to go and 
rejoin your brother. Innocent as he was, I hope to be 
able to show the same fortitude in my last moments. 
I am calm, like all those whose consciences do not 
accuse them. It rends me to the heart to leave my 
poor children. You know that I only lived for them 
and for you, my dear sister : you, who for friendship’s 
sake have sacrificed all in order to remain with us. 
And in what a condition do I leave you ! I was told 
during my trial that my daughter had been separated 
from you. Poor child ! I dare not write to her ; 
she would not receive my letter. Accept my blessing 
for both my children. I hope that some day, when 

1 The letter never reached Madame Elisabeth. It fell into the 
hands of Robespierre, and after his death remained among his 
papers till 1815. The Government of Louis XVI11 bought the 
letter. It was ordered to be read in all the churches on 16 October 
of every year. 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 


287 


they are bigger, they will be brought back to you and 
appreciate your loving tenderness towards them. 
May they both remember what I always told them, 
that strict attention to duty is the best safeguard of 
our life, and that their love and confidence in each other 
will bring them happiness. I wish my daughter to 
feel that because she is the eldest she ought always 
to help her brother with her counsel and experience. 
May her love to him make this clear. I trust that my 
son will always treat his sister with the care and 
attention born of love. . . . May my son never forget 
his father’s last words, which I emphatically repeat: 
‘ Let him never try to avenge our death.’ 

“ I must mention one thing to you that gives me 
pain. I know the child has often caused you sorrow. 
Forgive him, dear sister ; think of his tender years, 
and how easy it is to force a child to repeat words and 
even name things he does not understand. 

“ A day will come—I hope so—when he will ap¬ 
preciate more fully your piety and tenderness. 

“ It now remains to me to confide my last thoughts 
to your care. ... I die in the Catholic Apostolic 
Roman faith, which was my father’s, in which I was 
brought up, and which I have always recognized. 
I look for no spiritual comfort, for I do not know if 
there are any priests of this religion, and besides, this 
place would expose them to far too many dangers. 
From the bottom of my heart I pray God to pardon 
all the sins that I have committed since I first saw 
the light. I hope that He in His goodness will hear 
my last prayers, as well as those I have sent up to Him 
for months past, to entreat Him to receive my soul 
for His loving-kindness and mercy’s sake. 

" I beg all those whom I know, and you especially. 


288 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


dear sister, to pardon all sorrow I have unknowingly 
caused you. I forgive my enemies their sins against 
me. I say farewell to my aunts and all my brothers 
and sisters. I had friends, and the thought of leaving 
them and their griefs, is one of the greatest sorrows 
that death can cause me. They must at least be told 
that I thought of them when death was near. 

“ Farewell, my true and well-loved sister ! May this 
letter reach you ! Think often of me. I embrace 
you and the poor children with all my heart. My 
God ! what pain it is, to leave them for ever ! . . . 
Adieu, adieu ! ” 

So her voice ceases. The paper is stained with her 
tears, but they are the last she ever shed. She had 
borne stupendous sorrows with unshaken dignity 
and patience. Now the end was at hand and found 
her ready. There was no need to strive further ; she 
had only to take up the challenge and achieve the 
last victory of courage. 

Collected, exalted, tranquil, she awaited the sum¬ 
mons, and, quitting the shelter of her prison, mounted 
the cart, faced the immense clamour of the thronged 
streets, and went bravely up the steps of the scaffold. 

Immeasurably greater in death than in any phase 
of her storm-tossed life, one of the immortal figures 
of the world’s drama, she passed to her Calvary. 

In the distant Tower of the Temple the Queen’s 
children may have heard the prolonged shouts in 
the streets, but no tidings were suffered to penetrate 
there. 

The two daughters of France and the young King, a 
dwindling shadow in the daik corners of his prison, 
were now all that remained in the realm of the once 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 


289 


worshipped race, the only representatives of the 
ancient Kings whom the will of the people had hedged 
round with Divinity so closely through centuries of 
loyalty and patience. 

Even these poor children of adversity were not to 
be allowed to creep with their sorrows into obscurity. 
Two of them were still to die, and only one frail 
creature was to be left to face life, with its dark 
memories, out of the whole group of prisoners in the 
Temple. 

Madame Elisabeth, and her niece Madame Royale, 
were not told of the execution of the Queen. Their 
imprisonment became more rigorous. Confined in 
a single room, the order was given that no one was to 
enter this room, and that their food and drink was to 
be supplied to them through a sliding panel. This 
order was not carried out. The officers on duty con¬ 
tinued to visit them three times a day, and food was 
brought in the usual way. The two ladies busied 
themselves with housework, glad to have some simple 
duties to perform. Nothing but the strictest necessities 
were supplied, and no servants waited upon them. 

Sometimes they heard the childish voice of the 
Dauphin singing the “ Carmagnole ” and the “ Marseil¬ 
laise/' The child was stationed at the window to sing, 
that the guards might hear him. His sister says in her 
memoirs that he was taught a great deal of bad 
language, and that his treatment was horrible. It 
must, of course, be remembered that Madame Royale 
had no standard by which to judge how a child should 
be reared, except the royal plan, which was to sur- 
! round the son of a king with a watchful luxury and 
adoring consideration. She knew nothing of the 
children of working people and the roughness of their 
19 



290 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


lives. Louis XVII had been handed over to a peasant, 
who was instructed to bring him up as his own son. 
A drunken and ignorant man, there is no positive 
evidence to show that Simon treated the little prisoner 
otherwise than with the rough discipline and fitful 
kindness he would have shown one of his own children. 
Naturally it was an abrupt change for the child, who 
was undoubtedly in ill-health. Simon’s idea of kind¬ 
ness was the idea of a peasant—to give a great 
deal of food to eat, and wine to drink. His standard 
of cleanliness would be of the lowest. He could not 
train the child in habits that lay entirely outside 
his own experience. The boy, in his quiet way, was 
fond of Madame Simon. She stood sometimes between 
the drunken wrath of Simon and the frail child, pre¬ 
cisely as a thousand working-class mothers interpose 
daily between a tipsy husband and an unoffending son. 

When in the care of these people, the child had 
sufficient food, kindly, if ignorant, attention from la 
Simon, and toys to play with. Already mentally 
unstable, he soon seemed to forget his mother and 
sister and all the influences of his past life. It was 
natural that the young plastic mind should take on 
the colours and impressions, even the coarse speech 
and manners, of his surroundings, which were sordid 
and brutal compared to anything he had known. The 
worst is still to be told. Everything was done to 
corrupt his mind. Hebert had conceived an idea of 
getting the child to accuse his mother. He could only 
be brought to this by a general weakness and corruption 
of his whole nature. Morally irresponsible, his under¬ 
standing darkened, the feelings entirely blunted, he 
was fit, when Hubert and his confederates came to the 
Temple, to do their infamous bidding. He spoke as 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 


291 


they told him, he signed where they bade him. That 
moment marked not only the supreme tragedy of his 
life, and that of his mother, but also the limit of 
wickedness to which human nature can sink. It is 
the blackest deed of history. 

When once this infamy was accomplished, Hebert 
had no further use for the Queen’s son. His captors 
ceased to pervert his mind. Small indulgences were 
granted. Barelle, a stone-mason, who was one of the 
Municipal officers, befriended him. The little daughter 
of the laundress, a child of his own age, was allowed 
to play with him. No one told him of his mother’s 
death. He was spared the blow. Some of his captors, 
in spite of all, showed humanity and sympathy. 

In the lumber-room of the Tower a mechanical toy 
was found. It was a canary that sprang out of a little 
box and sang a tune called “ The King’s March.” 
The toy was put in order and given to the captive. 
The child’s delight was so great that a friend, to please 
him still further, brought him some real canaries in a 
cage, and from thenceforth his great pleasure was the 
care of these birds. In order to distinguish them, 
he tied a piece of pink string round the leg of one 
canary. 

The sequel to this incident shows the ludicrous 
depths to which the false revolutionary spirit could 
lead, the childish superstition that had succeeded the 
lofty ideals of Mirabeau and Lafayette. It will 
scarcely be believed that some Municipal officers, paying 
an official visit to the " little Capet,” expressed grave 
dissatisfaction that he should be allowed to play with 
a toy-bird that sang a Royalist song. Moreover, it 
was decided that the pink string round the canary’s leg 
was a “ decoration,” and as such conveyed an idea of 



292 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


distinction and privilege “ foreign to the spirit of the 
Republic ” ! The child himself must have laughed 
at the triviality, even while he wept at the tyranny 
that took his birds and his toys away. 

“ On the 19th January 1794,” writes Madame 
Roy ale, “ we heard a great noise in my brother’s apart¬ 
ment, and we guessed he was going to be removed 
from the Temple. . . . We saw several parcels 
carried away. . . . But it was Simon who was gone. 
Obliged to choose between the situations of Municipal 
officer and guardian of my brother, he had preferred 
the former, and they had the cruelty to leave the poor 
child absolutely alone.” 

For many years Madame Royale believed this. She 
learned what is probably the truth, as a sworn secret, in 
her later life, and knew that in one of the parcels she 
had seen carried away from the Tower was the pitiful 
little body of her brother, going to its secret grave. 

The Convention did not know what to do with the 
children. To keep them in captivity meant to retain 
a constant source of disorder and agitation in the 
country. To banish them was to yield a dangerous 
power into the hands of foreign enemies, and to give 
a rallying-point to the enemies of the Republic. 

M. Joseph Turquan, in a recent work, “ Du nouveau 
sur Louis XVII,” 1 offers proof that the boy was killed 
in the Temple on the evening 19 January, 1794; that he 
was buried secretly in the dry moat of the Temple; 
that a boy of his own age, a deaf mute, and incurably 

1 The present writer adopts M. Turquan’s view of the tragedy of 
the Dauphin in the Temple, as the one out of a mass of theories 
that most clearly explains the mystery. It is the most probable of 
all the stories. Almost all commentators are agreed that the mute 
and imbecile boy who died on 8 June, 1795, was not the son of 
Louis XVI. 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 293 


ill, was brought to the Temple in his place, that he 
might die a natural death there ; that Madame Royale 
afterwards knew the whole truth. The skeleton of a 
boy was found by some prisoners, in 1801, in the 
dry moat. It had been covered with lime. There was 
nothing by which it might be recognized, but the bones 
must have been secretly buried, and were those of a 
child of the little King’s size and age. 

One thing is historically clear — his death was 
necessary to the state. There was no sense in killing 
Louis XVI and allowing Louis XVII to live. It was 
hoped that the rough treatment he had received in his 
delicate state would quickly put an end to the whole 
problem. He proved tougher than was expected, and 
did not seem likely to die. Even the Terror, though it 
had committed a far worse crime against him, would not 
see a child of nine years old brought to the guillotine. 
He was none the less condemned to death. In those 
days of social confusion, of frequent disappearances, 
it was not an impossible thing to find a substitute for 
the dead Prince—some boy from a hospital who was 
certainly dying, and would die silently in his cell. 

It is said that Simon one day asked one of his superiors: 

“ After all, what do they want to do with him ? 
To exile him ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ To kill him ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ To poison him ? ” 

“No.” 

“ What, then ? ” 

“ To get rid of him.” 

It is more than probable that Robespierre gave 
orders to Chaumette and Hebert to get rid of the 


294 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


child. When the deed was done, the next thing was 
to silence the murderers. Among the thousand sudden 
accusations and executions of the hour it was not 
difficult. Two months after the secret crime, Hebert 
went to the guillotine, and three weeks later Chaumette 
followed. Probably all the H6bertistes were tried 
and condemned for this sole reason, that Hubert might 
be silenced. Simon himself was hurried to the guillo¬ 
tine in July, 1794. 

Every precaution was taken that no one who had 
known the Dauphin should ever see the boy who was 
now shut up alone in an almost dark room. All 
regular attendants at the Temple were removed, and 
four guards, who were changed every twenty-four 
hours, were in charge of the little prisoner, but no one 
ever entered his cell. The order was given that 
under no pretext were the royal brother and sister to 
be allowed to meet. They were not to see each other 
even at a distance. To let the eyes of the girl rest 
for a moment on the face of the boy would be to 
destroy in a moment all the carefully built plot. All 
would be lost in her first exclamation : “ That is not 
my brother! ” 

Many have accepted the theory believed at the 
time by Madame Royale, 1 that it was indeed the little 
King Louis XVII who was pushed into a den and left 

1 There can be little doubt that some one, perhaps on a death-bed, 
directly or through a priest, told her of the death of her brother by 
violence on 19 January, 1794, after exacting a solemn vow of secrecy. 
When the Bourbon Kings came back to France, Marie Th6r£se 
revisited the Temple. Only the site was there. Napoleon had 
swept into oblivion both the Palace and the Tower, with all their 
dire memories. She caused to be planted on a certain spot close to 
the site of the prison a weeping willow and a cypress, and had the 
space fenced. Men thought she was commemorating those years of 
tragic captivity. In reality she was marking a grave. 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 295 


there for six months, and that, shut up in a cell, without 
attention of any kind, without fresh air, with hardly 
any light, this child who all through his short life had 
been so anxiously tended, and who was already sick in 
mind and body, lost his hold, inch by inch, on sanity 
and life. His faculties became inert and atrophied. 
It was but a scrap of wrecked humanity, pitiful and 
vacant, that was left at last to receive a little tardy 
kindness and to look again upon the light. A thousand 
times better to believe that his life came to a sudden 
end at the hands of Simon, than to be haunted by the 
thoughts of his having endured these months of martyr¬ 
dom utterly alone. But even then only another con¬ 
clusion is reached equally heart-breaking. A little 
forsaken child, whether a king or some obscure 
diseased outcast from a public hospital, did endure 
those months of awful silence, in the fetid atmosphere 
and blank loneliness. The creature that emerged at 
the end of six months bore no resemblance to the 
pretty, eager boy of Versailles or the Tuileries. 

However, the boy, whoever he was, still lived, and 
the French Government was thrown by that fact into 
great embarrassment in 1794. Every one ardently 
desired peace, a cessation of the terrible wars within 
and without, the possibility for the people of life again 
under normal conditions. At last Spain made over¬ 
tures of peace to the Republic. One of the conditions, 
however, was that Louis XVII and Madame Royale 
should be sent safely to the care of the Spanish King. 
The King of Sardinia refused to hold peace negotiations 
with France unless the royal children were given up. 
The French Government was in a difficulty. How 
could they give up a Dauphin with a sister who did 
not recognize him ? The real Dauphin lay in his grave 


296 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


in the moat, and the peace proposals, so essential to 
France, could not be entertained as long as the false 
Dauphin remained alive. The Committee of Public 
Safety temporized uneasily. The poor boy solved 
the difficulty by dying a natural death at last on 
8 June, 1795. A month later the relieved Republic 
made peace with Spain, and Madame Royale, the last 
survivor of the prisoners in the Temple, was released. 

Most tragic, most illusive, of all names in history, 
the little King Louis XVII has left but few memorials 
of his life and mysterious death. 

In the armoury of the Hotel des Invalides in Paris 
is a child’s sword, bearing the following inscription :— 

“ This sword belonged to the son of Louis XVI. 
He was a King without a crown, and died without a 
grave. Fate decreed that he should own a sword. 
He was the descendant of mighty Kings, but he never 
fought, except against Simon, whom he disarmed by 
patience.” 

The last of her family, the little Orphan of the 
Temple, endured a fate only a little less terrible than 
that of her brother. She outlived every one that she 
loved. The companionship of the gentle Madame 
Elisabeth was all that was left to her. That, also, 
she was to be called upon to surrender. 

It was at night that Elisabeth of France heard the 
summons—a loud knocking at the door of the cell 
where both prisoners were preparing for sleep. A 
man entered. 

" Citoyenne, will you kindly come downstairs ? ” 

“ And my niece ? ” 

“ She will be attended to afterwards.” 

“ I shall come back,” said Madame Elisabeth to the 
child. 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 297 


'‘No, Citoyenne, you will not come back.” 

Madame Elisabeth was brought to trial next day. 

“ They condemned her to death. She asked to be 
placed in the same room with the other persons who 
were to die with her. She exhorted them with a 
presence of mind, an elevation of soul and religious 
enthusiasm, which fortified all their minds. In the 
cart she preserved the same firmness and encouraged 
and supported the women who were with her. At 
the scaffold they had the barbarity to reserve her for 
the last. All the women, in leaving the cart, begged 
to embrace her. She kissed them and kindly said 
some words of comfort to each. Her strength never 
left her, and she died with all the resignation of the 
purest holiness. 

“ Marie Philippine Elisabeth H 61 ene, sister of 
Louis XVI, died on the ioth May, 1794, at the age of 
thirty years. ... I saw in her nothing but love of 
God and the horror of sin—religion, gentleness, meek¬ 
ness, modesty—and a devoted attachment to her 
family ; she sacrificed her life for them, for nothing 
could persuade her to leave the King and Queen. 
She was a Princess worthy of the blood to which she 
belonged.” 

The bitterness of death to her lay in the fact that 
she left Marie Therese alone in the Temple—a young 
girl, without a single woman to attend her, and 
practically in solitary confinement. No news of any 
kind was allowed to penetrate to her prison. Utterly 
alone, without guidance, without comfort, without 
human companionship, she lived through long months 
of cruelly close captivity. 

After the fall of Robespierre, and the end of the 
Reign of Terror, the National Convention, while 


298 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


negotiating for her exchange with French prisoners in 
Vienna, saw fit to provide the Princess with a com¬ 
panion. Madame Chanterenne was sent to the Temple. 
It was the first breath that had reached the young 
girl from the outside world for many dark months. 
The eagerness of the first breathless questions, and 
the tragedy of the low-spoken replies, may be imagined. 
“ What of my mother ? ” 

“You have no mother.” 

“ And my aunt ? ” 

“ She is dead.” 

“ And my brother ? ” 

“ He died a week ago.” 

The Orphan of the Temple 1 stood on the threshold 
of her prison. Life, light, liberty, were given her 
again, all of little value now. It was three years 
since she had entered the Tower of the Temple. She 
was rich then, in spite of the agitations of her young 
life, a much-prized daughter and sister. She came out 
of captivity with everything struck from her— 
parents, brother, friends, home, faith in human pity, 
and trust in human justice. She was seventeen years 
old, and she had gathered experiences which left 
shadows dark enough to overwhelm a long life. From 
these grim walls, from the mob-ridden courts of 
Versailles, from the guarded galleries of the Tuileries, 
from the gutters of Varennes, she had amassed a 
throng of pitiful memories that nothing could ever 
efface. She stepped forth into liberty, into the blank 

1 Madame Royale left the Temple on 18 December, 1795. She 
took refuge with her mother’s relations at Vienna. In 1799, at 
Mittau, she married her cousin, Louis Antoine, due d’Angouleme, the 
son of the comte d’Artois (afterwards Charles X). Nearly the whole 
of her life was passed in exile. She was left a widow in 1844, and 
lived until 1851. She left no children. 


THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE 299 


desolation of the world, old and experienced in 
sorrow. 

There was now no Child of France left. The Orphans 
of the Temple were the last who could lay claim to 
the ancient beautiful title. Other children of the royal 
race of Bourbons were again to inhabit the palace of 
their forefathers, but the unbroken tradition, the 
unchallenged Divine Right, was nothing now but a 
memory and a dream. Later royal children were 
the children of the French nation, chosen and sup¬ 
ported by the will of the people. The Kings and 
the Children of France were gone for ever. 

Not to these poor lost atoms, tossed on the angry 
sea of a nation’s revolt, could be revealed the meaning 
of their martyrdom. It must have seemed that 
France herself had fallen. But France, even through 
the frantic confusions of the later days of the Revolu¬ 
tion, still kept the exalted passion of her spirit. Out 
of the void and the chaos rose one man, created by the 
need of the hour, immeasurably great, who, with the 
tools of military despotism, was to mould the nation 
into another form of beauty and order. The unique 
genius of Napoleon was to attempt the redemption of 
France. 

In the rapid survey of the centuries, many troops 
of little children have gathered and gone past, some 
leaving no mark save a bare name in a state docu¬ 
ment, a chance entry telling of a baptism or a death. 
Those of the earlier days can never be anything but 
faint outlines, taking a dim colour and life from some 
tender allusion in a letter, or from a casual expression 
in some ponderous record, which gives them shape. 

Delicate forms, illusive as dreams, they are scarcely 
noticed in the imposing procession of great men who, 


300 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


all down the ages, in an unfailing succession, make the 
splendour of the story of France. One after another 
they go past in the dazzling pageant—soldiers, states¬ 
men, philosophers, poets, patriots—their torches flooding 
the path with a blaze of light. The Children of France 
are lost in the glory. It is difficult to single them out 
of the obscurity, to give them life and personality. 

Silently the generations pass on. The phantoms of 
the children are clearer now. They stand in a sharper 
light, definite, living, loving creatures, whose voices 
can be heard calling and singing. They have watched 
the activities of the old world drop away and become 
only wistful memories. They have lived through 
immense changes in the national life and in the thoughts 
of men. All unknowing, in their tragic destiny, the last 
Children of France have witnessed the greatest event 
that the long centuries have brought, not only to 
France, but to all the world, the regeneration of a 
people. 

Although burdened with a thousand dark and bitter 
memories, the story of the past must become more and 
more sacred as it sinks deeper into the eternal keeping 
of the ages. The old griefs are forgiven as they are 
seen in relation to the moulding of the race. The 
Children of France, links in the unbroken chain, 
claim their places in the pageant. 

Crowned with the sovereignty of so many shining 
names, the France of to-day, her eyes fixed on God’s 
future, may spare a tiny niche in the shrine of her 
history for the frail and appealing figures of the little 
children of her sad and glorious past. 


INDEX 


Albret, Jeanne d’, Queen of 
Navarre, 37, 39, 40, 41 
Alenin, Castle of, 14 
Charles d’, 12, 28, 29 
ducd’. See Valois-Angouleme, 
Hercule Francois 
Amboise, Castle of, 5, 6, 7, 8, 
10, 12, 14, 15, 20, 22, 23, 
31, 42, 80, 88, 102 
Amyot, Jacques, 69 
Ana Maria Victoria, Infanta of 
Spain, betrothed to Louis 
XV, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 
210, 229 

Andrea del Sarto, 19. 

Angenere, 128 

Angouleme, Charles, due d\ 
See Orleans, Charles, due d', 
son of Francois I 
due d\ See Orleans, Charles 
d', father of Francois I 
Francis d\ See Francois I 
Louis de Bourbon, due d’, 
son of Charles X, 244, 
298 

Marguerite d’, 1 ; her birth, 

2, 3 ; gifts, 4 ; character, 5 ; 
early training, 6 ; girlhood, 

7; appearance, 9; sum¬ 
moned to Court, 10 ; 
marriage negotiations, 12 ; 
married to due d’Alen?on, 

13 ; married life, 14 ; sum¬ 
moned to Court of Francis 
I, 18 ; sent to Amboise, 20 ; 
care of King’s children, 22 ; 
letter to the King, 23 ; 
gift of story-telling, 24 ; 
letter concerning King’s 
daughter, Charlotte, 26; 

301 


verses on the child’s death, 
27 ; defeat of Pavia, 28 ; 
death of her husband, 
d’Alen^on, 29; travels to 
Spain, 29; fails in her 
embassy, 30; letter to 
Francois I, 31 ; remarriage 
to the King of Navarre, 37; 
death of her son, 38 ; 
the King takes away her 
daughter, 39; birth of 
sons, 40; her daughter’s 
rebellion, 41 ; she consoles 
her brother, 48 ; hears of 
her brother's death, 49 ; 
her death, 50 ; present at 
the baptism of Francis II, 
55 

Anne of Austria, marriage to 
Louis XIII, note, 108 ; 
marriage negotiations, 129 ; 
her wedding dress, 131 ; her 
wedding, 132 ; rehearses a 
ballet, 136; unhappy 
domestic life, 138 ; be¬ 
friends La Grande Made¬ 
moiselle, 139 ; birth of 
two sons, 140; her joy, 
141 ; sent for to see her 
dying husband, 143 ; entry 
into Paris with Louis XIV, 

144 ; made Queen Regent, 

145 ; encourages her son’s 
warlike tastes, 146 ; nurses 
her son through smallpox, 
147; story of her son 
Philippe’s illness, 148 ; her 
kindness to Queen Henri¬ 
etta Maria, 149 ; pamphlet 
circulated in Paris, 150 ; 






302 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


revives Court festivities, 
151 ; her suppers de¬ 
scribed, 152 ; outbreak of 
the Fronde Revolution, 
154; leaves Paris, 155 ; 
leaves Paris a second time, 
156 ; returns, 157 ; gives 
a ball, 160; death of a 
granddaughter, 168; her 
death, 171 

wife of Philip II of Spain, 74 
Anne de Bretagne, 2, 3, 4, 6, 10, 
11, 12, 13, 14, 15 
Argenson, Marquis d', 222 
Arthur, Prince of Wales, 12 
Artois, Comte d\ See Charles X 
Austria, 266 
Autin, due d’, 210 

Balmerino, Abbey of, 47 
Barelle, 291. 

Bar-le-Duc, 90 
Barnave, 263, 264 
Barry, Madame du, 234, 237 
Bassompierre, 120 
Bastille, 76, 231, 252 
Place de la, 267 
Bayard, the chevalier, 20 
Bayonne, 90 

Beaujolais, Princesse de, 206 
Beaumont, duede, no 
Beaupreau, Marquis de, 66, 67 
Beauvillier, Monsieur de, 180 
Bellay, Joachim du, 19 
Benvenuto Cellini, 19 
Bidassoa River, 32, 35, 130 
Blois, Castle of, 5, 7, 13, 18, 25, 
42, 46, 79, 80, 101, 104, 
133 

Mademoiselle de, daughter of 
Louis XIV, and Madame de 
Montespan, 171 
Bodin, 34, 35 
Bonnet, 125 
Bordeaux, 129, 130 
due de, Henri V, 265 
Boulogne, 48 

Bourbon, Anne Elisabeth de, 
daughter of Louis XIV, 167, 
168, 169 

Anne Henriette de, daughter 
of Louis XV, 213, 216, 217, 
220, 224, 225, 226 


Bourbon, Antoine de, father of 
Henri IV, 41, 72 
Cardinal de, 55, 72 
Charles de, due de Berry, 
grandson of Louis XIV, 
178, 180, 183, 185, 186, 187, 
190 

Christine de, daughter of 
Henri IV, 108, 109, 115, 
116, 117, 120, 121, 122, 127, 
134 

due de, 210 

Elisabeth de, daughter of 
Henri IV, 108, 109, 115, 
116, 117, 120, 121, 122, 
127, 129, 130, 131, 132, 
136 

Elisabeth Philippine de, Mad¬ 
ame Elisabeth, daughter of 
Louis the Dauphin, son 
of Louis XV, her birth 
and death, note, 230 ; 
brothers and sister, 232 ; 
devotion to her brother, 
Louis XVI, 242 ; sym¬ 
pathy with Marie An¬ 
toinette, 250 ; recalled to 
Versailles from Montreuil, 
255 ; terrible drive to 
Paris, 258 ; attempted 
escape, 261 ; riot of 16 
August, 1792, 269 ; in the 
Parliament Hall, 270 ; the 
tower of the Temple, 273 ; 
teaches her nephew, the 
Dauphin, 274 ; life in the 
Temple, 275 ; sees the 
King removed, 278 ; death 
of her brother, 280; scene 
at the harpsichord, 281 ; 
sees the Dauphin taken 
away, 282; says good-bye 
to Marie Antoinette, 284 ; 
letter from the Concier- 
gerie, 286 ; Marie Antoin¬ 
ette asks her compassion 
for her children, 287 ; not 
told of the Queen’s death, 
289 ; her trial, 296; her 
death, 297 
family of, 85, 299 
Gaston Jean Baptiste de, due 
d’Orleans, son of Henri IV, 





INDEX 


303 


birth, marriage, and death, 
note, 108; the third son 
of Henri IV, no ; loved by 
his brother, Louis XIII, 
117; last day with his father, 

120 ; assists at funeral cere¬ 
monies, 122 ; a promised 
bridegroom, 127 ; separ¬ 
ated from his mother, 134 ; 
dances in a ballet, 136 ; 
his marriage, 138; birth 
of his daughter. La Grande 
Mademoiselle, 139 ; ceases 
to be next heir to the 
throne, 140 ; exiled at St. 
Germain, 156; his death, 
162 

Bourbon, Henriette Marie de, 
daughter of Henri IV, her 
birth, marriage, and death, 
note, 108; her unfortunate 
destiny, no; loved by her 
brother, the Dauphin, 117 ; 
plays with her father, 120 ; 
taken to his death-bed, 

121 ; takes part in funeral 
ceremonies, 122 ; parted 
from her mother, 134 ; 
writes a letter, 135 ; dances 
in a ballet, 136 ; married 
to Charles I of England, 
137 ; unhappy fate, 138 ; 
comes back to France, 149 ; 
brings her daughter to 
Court, 160 ; godmother 
to the “ Grand Dauphin,” 
168; death of La Heine 
Malheureuse, 171 

Lodge, Fontevralt, 218 

Louis, Dauphin, son of Louis 
XV, 213, 214, 215, 221, 
226, 228, 229, 230, 235, 242 

Louis, due de Bourgogne, 
grandson of Louis XIV, 
178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 
184, 185, 186, 187, 189, 

190, 191' 193, 195 

Louis, due de Bretagne, 
eldest son of Louis, due de 
Bourgogne, 191, 192, 193 

Louis, due de Bretagne,second 
son of the due deBourgogne, 

191, 192, 193, 196 


Bourbon, Louis Frangois de, due 
d’Anjou, son of Louis XIV, 
167, 170 

Louis Joseph, Dauphin, son 
of Louis XVI, 244, 245, 
248, 249, 251, 280 

Louis Joseph Xavier de, son 
of Louis, Dauphin, son of 
Louis XV, 230, 231, 232 

Louis Toussaint, the Grand 
Dauphin, son of Louis 
XIV, 167, 168, 170, 171, 
178, 179, 180, 185, 194, 195 

Louise Elisabeth de, daughter 
of Louis XV, 213, 214, 215, 
216, 217, 224 

Louise Marie de, third daugh¬ 
ter of Louis XV, 213, 214, 

216, 217 

Louise Marie de, eighth daugh¬ 
ter of Louis XV, 214, 217, 
218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 226, 
227, 228, 232, 233, 234, 
237, 238, 239 

Marguerite de, mother of 
Louise de Savoie, 2 

Marie Adelaide de, daughter 
of Louis XV, 213, 214, 216, 

217, 220, 222, 223, 224, 226, 
227, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 
238 

Marie Anne de, daughter of 
Louis XIV, 167, 169 

Marie Sophie Helene Beatrix 
de, daughter of Louis XVI, 
244, 246, 250 

Marie Therese de, daughter of 
Louis XIV, 167, 169, 172 

Marie Therese de, daughter of 
Louis, Dauphin, son of 
Louis XV, 229 

Marie Therese de, Madame 
Royale, daughter of 
Louis XVI, birth, marriage, 
and death, note, 244; 
birth of her brother, 245 ; 
her mother’s training, 247 ; 
her character, 248 ; public 
appearance, 252 ; scenes 
at Versailles, 256 ; terrible 
journey, 258 ; life at the 
Tuileries, 259 ; attempted 
escape, 260; adventures 



304 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


of the journey, 261 ; be¬ 
trayal, 262 ; the return 
journey, 263 ; the Champ 
de Mars, 265 ; present at 
the riot of 20 June, 1792, 
267; present at that of 
16 August, 268; attack 
on the Tuileries, 269 ; the 
Hall of the Parliament, 

270 ; leaves the Tuileries, 

271 ; arrival at the Temple, 

272 ; order and routine, 

273 ; home life, 274 ; hope 
still alive, 276 ; quiet days, 
277; writes account of 
her father’s death, 278; 
her account of the end, 279 ; 
music in prison, 280 ; 
scene at the harpsichord, 
281 ; a new torment, 282 ; 
her brother removed, 283 ; 
says good-bye to her mother, 
284; her mother’s last 
letter, 286 ; messages, 287 ; 
not informed of her mother’s 
death, 288; rigorous im¬ 
prisonment, 289; learns 
the truth about her 
brother, 292 ; other 
theories accepted, 294 ; 
Spain demands release of 
royal children, 295 ; her 
release, 296 ; writes of the 
death of her aunt, 297 ; 
leaves the tower of the 
Temple, 298 

Bourbon, Marie Xavier Joseph 
de, son of Louis, Dauphin, 
son of Louis XV, 230, 232 
Marie Zephyrine de, daughter 
of Louis, Dauphin, son of 
Louis XV, 230, 231 
Nicholas de, son of Henri IV, 
108, 109, 117, 122, 125, 126 
Philippe de, due d’Anjou, 
King of Spain, grandson of 
Louis XIV, 178, 179, 180, 
183, 185, 186, 187, 189, 190 
Philippe de, due d’Anjou, son 
of Louis XIV, 167, 169, 170 
Philippe de, due d’Anjou, son 
of Louis XV, 213, 214, 216 
Sophie Philippine de, daughter 


of Louis XV, 214, 216, 217, 
218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 227, 
232, 233, 234, 236, 237, 238, 

246 

Bourbon, Th6rdse Felicite de, 
daughter of Louis XV, 214, 

217, 218, 219, 220 
Victoire Louise de, daughter 

of Louis XV, 214, 216, 217, 

218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 
226, 227, 232, 233, 234, 236, 
237, 238 

Bourg-la-Reine, 207 
Bourset, M. de, 249 
Brantome, 57, 74, 88, 90, 99 
Bri5onnet, Bishop, 26 
Broussel, Peter, 154 
Buckingham, Duke of, 136 
Burgos, 131 
Bishop of, 78 
Burgundy, 29, 30 

Cambrai, 33, 183 

Campan, Madame de, 217, 223, 

247 

Canterbury, 137 

Capet, the little. See Louis 
XVII 

Carlos, Don, 74, 78, 79 
Carmelites, 217, 228 
Carousel, Place du, 260, 261 
Cateau Cambresis, peace of, 
75 

CMlon, 262 
Chamilly, M., 274 
Champagne, 90 
Champ de Mars, 264 
Chanterenne, Madame de, 298 
Charles I of England, 108, 135, 
r 36, 137, 138, 140 
Charles II of Spain, 171, 189 
Charles V of France, 2, 4 
Charles V of Spain, 20, 21, 29, 
3 °, 35, 43 

Charles VIII, 2, 3, 4, 5, n 
Charles IX, birth, 60 ; educa¬ 
tion, 63 ; acrobatic am¬ 
bitions, 66 ; early youth, 
68 ; strain of insanity, 69 ; 
influence of his mother, 70 ; 
present at the Dauphin!s 
wedding, 73 ; becomes 
King of France, 85 ; taught 




INDEX 


305 


Reformed opinions, 86; 
travels with his mother, 89 ; 
visits his sister, the Queen 
of Spain, 90 ; his sad fare¬ 
well, 91 ; marriage, 92 ; 
character, 93 ; attends his 
sister Marguerite’s wedding, 
94 ; terrible interview with 
his mother, 95 ; lends his 
authority to the massacre 
of St. Bartholomew, 96 ; 
his command to kill, 97 ; 
remorse, 98; last illness, 
99; death, 100 ; only child, 
101 

Charles X, 230, 232, 233, 235, 
243, 258, 265 
Chartres, 176 
due de, 224 
Princesse de, 206 
Chatellerault, 41 
CMtillon, family of, 72 
Chaumette, 293, 294 
Chevreuse, due de, 137 
Chiffe. See Bourbon, Louise 
Marie de, daughter of Louis 
XV 

Clement, Jacques, 104 
Clement VII, Pope, 41, 42 
Cleves, due de, 40, 41 
Coche. See Bourbon, Victoire 
Therdse de, daughter of 
Louis XV 

Cognac, Castle of, 2 
Coligny, Admiral, 93, 95 * 97 , 98 
Colombes, palace of, 171 
Conciergerie, 284, 285 
Concini, Leonora, Marquise 
d’Ancre, 129, 132, 133, 134 
Marquis d’Ancre, 129, 132, 

I 33 « 134 . TT , 

Conde, the Great, Louis II de 
Bourbon, 149, 164 
Henri II de Bourbon, Prince 
de, 153 

Prince de, Louis I de Bourbon, 
72, 87 

Conflans, Marquis de, 243 
Couzier6s, Castle of, 134 

Dangeau, Marquis de, 200 
Danton, 276, 281 
Diane de France, 58, 59, 72 


Diane de Poitiers, attachment 
of Henri II to, 53 ; feared by 
Catherine de’ Medici, 54 ; 
present at the Dauphin’s 
baptism, 55 ; paramount 
in the royal nursery, 56 ; 
created Duchesse de 
Valentinois, 57 ; brings up 
Diane de France, 58 ; pre¬ 
sent at the Dauphin's 
marriage, 72 ; desolation 
at the King’s death, 77 ; 
withdraws to Anet, 78 
Dover Castle, 137. 

Drouet, 262 

Dubois, Cardinal, 202, 205, 

206 

the valet of Louis XIII, 142 
Durand. See Louis XVI, 261 

Edgeworth, the Abb6, 279 
Edict of Nantes, 118, 177 
Edinburgh, 47 
Elbceuf, due d’, 123 
E 16 onore, Queen of Portugal, 
second wife of Francois I, 
3 °» 32 , 33 , 36 , 55 , 58 
Elisabeth of Austria, wife of 
Charles IX, 54, 92, 99, 101 
Elizabeth of England, 71 
Epernon, due d’, 120, 121 
Erasmus, 9 
Escorse, Laurent, 69 
Estais, Pierre d’, 22 
Evelyn, John, 157, 158 
Exeter, 149 

Faisans, lie des, 132 
Fan-fan, 284 

Faremoutiers, Abbey of, 48 
Farnese, Elisabeth, wife of 
Philippe V of Spain, 178, 
206, 208, 209 

F6nelon, Francis de Salignac 
de la Mothe, 180, 181, 182, 
183, 184, 191 
Ferrare, due de, 10 
Ferronnerie, Rue de la, 121 
Fersen, Comte Axel de, 243, 260, 
261, 262 

Feuillants, Monastery of the, 
270, 271 

Field of the Cloth of Gold, 25, 45 


20 





306 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Flanders Campaign, 221 
Fleurange, 7, 8 

Fleury, Cardinal, 201, 205, 208, 
209, 211, 213, 217, 224, 
225 

Florence, 107 
Foix, Gaston de, 7,11 
Fontainebleau, Francois I re¬ 
stores and enlarges it, 21 ; 
Valois establishment at, 
42 ; Francis II born there, 
54 ; his baptism, 55 ; plot 
to kidnap Prince Henri 
there, 86 ; baptism of 
Louis XIII there, 115 ; 
dazzling pageantry there, 
116 ; Marie de' Medici’s 
bath there, 152 ; home of 
Philippe d’Orl6ans (the 
Regent), 162 ; Louis XIV's 
life there, 165 ; brilliant 
scenes, 166 ; open-air fetes, 
167 ; son of Louis XIV 
born there, 168 ; Anne of 
Austria dies there, 171 ; 
contrasted with Versailles, 
173 ; Louis XIV signs the 
Revocation of the Edict 
of Nantes there, 177 ; the 
due de Bourgogne there, 
182 ; his life there, 183 ; 
bride brought there, 187; 
a Dauphine dies there, 213 ; 
the Court there, 215 
Fontenoy, battle of, 221 
Fontevralt, convent of, 9, 218, 
219, 220, 226 

Force, prison of La, 275, 277 
Francis I, 1 ; his parentage, 2 ; 
birth, 2 ; expectations, 4 ; 
character, 5 ; early train¬ 
ing, 6 ; early friends, 7 ; 
boyhood, 8; personal 
courage, 9 ; summoned to 
Court, 10; betrothal, n ; 
attends his sister’s wedding, 
12 ; marriage, 13 ; un¬ 
certain prospects, 14 ; 
succeeds to the throne of 
France, 15 ; adventure 
with boar, 16 ; his Petite 
Bande, 17 ; popularity, 18 ; 
patron of Art, 19; suc¬ 


cesses in Italy, 20 ; restores 
Fontainebleau, 21 ; his 
amusements, 22 ; called to 
Italy, 23 ; letter from his 
daughter, 24 ; his cam¬ 
paign of 1524, 25 ; death 
of his wife Claude, 25 ; 
death of his daughter 
Charlotte, 26 ; defeated at 
Pavia, 28 ; prisoner in 
Spain, 2^; buys his 
liberty, 30 ; letter from his 
sister, 31 ; is exchanged 
for his sons, 32 ; his last 
Italian campaign, 33 ; ne¬ 
gotiates for release of his 
children, 35 ; sees his boys 
again, 36, 37; letter "to 
his sister, 38 ; he takes 
Marguerite’s child from her, 
39 ; forces Jeanne d’Albret 
into marriage, 40 ; arranges 
his son’s marriage with 
Catherine de’ Medici, 41 ; 
is present at the wedding, 
42 ; his daughter-in-law, 

42 ; her companionship, 

43 ; death of his eldest 
son, 44 ; marriage of his 
daughter, Magdaleine, 45 ; 
death of Magdaleine, 48 ; 
death of his son Charles, 
49 ; his death, 50 ; Cather¬ 
ine de’ Medici invokes his 
help, 54 ; baptism of his 
grandson, 55 ; gives him 
governorship of Langue¬ 
doc, 56; resemblance of 
grandson’s last illness to his 
own, 82.; resemblance of 
his granddaughter, Mar¬ 
guerite, 89 ; resemblance of 
Louis XIV, 167 ; his his¬ 
tory studied, 182 

Francis II, his birth, 54 ; 
baptism, 55 ; early ill- 
health, 56 ; early friendship 
for Mary Stuart, 57 ; her 
companionship, 59 ; educa¬ 
tion, 63 ; letter from his 
brother Henri, 65 ; his 
marriage, 72 ; wedding 
festivities, 73 ; is King of 




INDEX 


307 


France, 77; plot of la 
Renaudie, 79; retreats to 
Amboise, 80; witnesses 
executions, 81 ; last illness, 
82 ; his death, 83 ; funeral, 
84 

Frohsdorf, 244 

Fronde, War of the, 154, 155, 

156, 157 

George I of England, 210 

Gobert, 216 

Graille. See Bourbon, Sophie 
Justine de, daughter of 
Louis XV 

Grenelle, 128 

Guadalajara, 78 

Guise, Charles, Cardinal de, 72, 
77, 79, 80, 81, 83, 84, 86 
family of, 85, 86, 95 
Francois, second due de, 72, 
77, 79, 80, 81, 83, 84, 85, 86, 
87 

Henri (Prince de Joinville), 
third due de, 87, 89, 93 

Haie, Marquis de la, 231, 232 

H6bert, 278, 281, 290, 291, 
293, 294 

Henri II, his birth, 20, 21 ; 
childhood, 24; sent into 
Spain as a hostage, 30; 
measles at Amboise as due 
d’Orleans, 31 ; interview 
with English ambassador, 
32 ; exiled to Spain, 33 ; 
his imprisonment, 34 ; out¬ 
rageous treatment, 35 ; his 
return to France, 36; 
changed character, 37 ; his 
marriage to Catherine de’ 
Medici, 41 ; shares his 
brother’s establishment, 
42 ; his character, 43 ; 
becomes Dauphin, 44 ; sent 
to besiege Boulogne, 48; 
married life, 52 ; love for 
Diane de Poitiers, 53 ; 
birth of his son, 54 ; be¬ 
comes King, 57 ; his 
daughter Diane, 58; his 
daughter Margot, 66 ; letter 
from Margot, 67 ; present 


at the Dauphin’s wedding, 

72 ; marriages of his 
daughters, 74; arranges 
his sister’s marriage, 75 ; 
injured at wedding tourna¬ 
ment, 76 ; his death, 77 

Henri III, his birth, marriage, 
and death, note , 54 ; birth, 
60; education, 63 ; pro¬ 
claims himself Huguenot, 
65 ; letter to the King, his 
brother, 66 ; strange char¬ 
acter as a boy, 70; his 
mother's favourite, 71 ; 
present at the Dauphin’s 
wedding to Mary Stuart, 

73 ; Huguenot education, 
86; plot to kidnap him, 
87 ; present at the wedding 
of his sister Marguerite, 
94 ; enters into his mother’s 
plans for St. Bartholomew’s 
Eve, 96 ; gives description 
of the scene, 97 ; elected 
King of Poland, 99 ; be¬ 
comes King of France, 100 ; 
treats his mother with 
contempt, 101 ; treatment 
of his niece, 102 ; his 
assassination, 104 

Henri IV, marriage to Mar¬ 
guerite de Valois, note, 54; 
present at the marriage of 
the Dauphin to Mary 
Stuart, 72 ; unhappy 
marriage, 89; Catherine 
de’ Medici plans his mar¬ 
riage to her daughter, 93 ; 
the wedding ceremonies, 
94; at the death-bed of 
Charles IX, 100 ; succeeds 
to the throne of France, 
104; his marriage with 
Marguerite de Valois an¬ 
nulled, 105; his second 
marriage, ro7 ; birth of a 
son, 108; consoles the 
Queen, 109; devotion to 
his children, no; anxiety 
for their health, in ; be¬ 
loved by his children, 112 ; 
requests the Dauphin to 
act for him, 113; letter 





308 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


from the Dauphin, 114 ; 
trouble with his first wife, 
117 ; Edict of Nantes, 118 ; 
consents to the Queen’s 
coronation, 119 ; dark pre¬ 
sentiments, 120 ; his 
assassination, 121 ; his 
vision appears ±0 his son 
Nicolas, 126 

Henrietta of England, daughter 
of Charles I, 140, 149, 159, 
160, 162, 166, 171 
Henry VII, 12 
Henry VIII, 12, 15 
“ Heptameron,” the, 48 
HSrouard, Doctor, 125, 127, 128 
Holyrood, palace of, 47 
Horse-racing, 243, 244 
Hue, M., 274, 275 
Huguenot crowds at wedding of 
Henri of Navarre, 94 
massacre. See St. Bartholo¬ 
mew’s Eve 

massacre and rebellion, 87 
persecution in royal nursery, 
65 

plots, 79, 80, 81 
teaching at Court, 86 

Invalides, Hotel des, 296 

James I of England, 136, 137 
James V of Scotland, 45, 46, 
47 . 72 

Joinville, Prince de. See Guise, 
Henri, third due de 

Korff, Baroness de. See Tour- 
zel, Madame de, 261 

La Brosse, 84 

Lafayette, 255, 256, 261, 264, 
291 

Lamballe, Princesse de, 242, 
252, 253, 264, 269, 273, 
274, 275, 277 
Lausac, Madame de, 144 
Laussac, Sieur de, 69 
Lauzun, due de, 243, 244 
Leczinska, Marie, wife of 
Louis XV, 210, 211, 212, 
214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 220, 
233 


Leonardo da Vinci, 19 
Lepitre, 280, 281 
Longueuil, Christopher, 6 
Longwy, battle of, 276 
Loque. See Bourbon, Marie 
Adelaide de, daughter of 
Louis XV 

Lorenzo de’ Medici, 41 
Lorraine, 87, 90 

Charles II, due de, 54 
Charles III of, 74 
due de, 171 

Marguerite de, second wife 
of Gaston d’Orleans, 108, 
148, 156 
Louis XI, 98 

Louis XII, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 
11, 12, 13, 14, 15 
Louis XIII, his birth, marriage, 
and death, note, 108; 
delicate babyhood, 109 ; 
character as a child, 112 ; 
stories of his childhood, 
113 ; writes a letter to the 
King, 114; kindness of 
heart, 115 ; his public 
baptism, 116 ; placed under 
tutors, 117 ; his father's 
divorced wife leaves him 
her property, 118; at his 
father’s death-bed, 121 ; 
at the funeral ceremonies, 
122 ; his coronation, 123 ; 
defective education, 124 ; 
love of animals, 125 ; 
death of his brother 
Nicolas, 126; his mar¬ 
riage suggested, 127; 
love of hawking, 128; 
comes of age, 129 : parts 
with his sister Elisabeth, 
130 ; his wedding, 132 ; 
rids himself of the Concini 
and exiles his mother to 
Blois, 133 ; unhappy 
domestic life, 138; birth 
of his sons, 140 ; suspicions 
of his wife, 141 ; his last 
illness, 142 ; scenes at 
St. Germain, 143 ; his 
death, 144 ; his first bath, 
152 

i Louis XIV, 21 ; birth, 140 ; 




INDEX 


309 


babyhood, 141 ; his bap¬ 
tism, 142 ; interview with 
his dying father, 143 ; be¬ 
comes King of France, 144 ; 
opens his first Parliament, 
145 ; early boyhood, 146 ; 
has smallpox, 147 ; com¬ 
panionship of Mazarin’s 
nieces, 148 ; arrival of his 
cousin, Henriette of Eng¬ 
land, 149 ; pamphlet circu- 1 
lated in Paris, 150; his 
amusements, 151 ; uncom- j 
fortable household, 152 ; 
neglected education, 153 ; ! 
flight from Paris during 
the Fronde rebellion, 155 ; 
a second flight, 156 ; returns 
to Paris and opens Parlia¬ 
ment, 157 ; magnificent 
appearance, 158 ; revives 
glories of Court life, 159 ; 
meets Marie Mancini, 160 ; 
is separated from her by 
Mazarin, 161 ; his marriage 
to the Infanta of Spain, 
162 ; loses Mazarin, 163 ; 
determines to rule the- 
kingdom himself, 164 ; his 
hard work, 165 ; seeks the 
society of Henriette, his 
brother’s wife, 166; his 
fascinating personality, 

167 ; early married years, 

168 ; births and deaths of 
his children, 169 ; con¬ 
tinual bereavements, 170 ; 
foreign wars, 172 ; builds 
Versailles, 173 ; hailed as 
a demigod, 174 ; absorbed 
in Madame de Maintenon, 
176 ; his marriage to her, 
177; arranges the Dau¬ 
phin’s marriage, 178; 
birth of his grandson, 179; 
L’Etat, c’est mot, 181 ; life 
with his grandsons, 183 ; 
arranges the marriage of 
his grandson, Louis, 186; 
fascinated by Marie Ade¬ 
laide, 187; indulges her, 
188 ; accepts the Spanish 
crown for his grandson, | 


Philippe, 189; desires to 
recover lost glories, 190; 
birth of his great-grandsons, 
192 ; affection for Marie 
Adelaide, 193 ; sorrows of 
his old age, 194 ; bereave¬ 
ments in 1712, 195 ; fears 
lor the succession, 196; 
his charge to Louis XV, 

197 ; his death, 198 ; his 
directions carried out, 199 ; 
his vital spirit, 213 ; decline 
of his Court, 221 ; Madame 
Royale proud of her de¬ 
scent from him, 248 ; once 
lived at the Tuileries, 259 ; 
his statue thrown down at 
the Revolution, 271 

Louis XV, his parentage, 184 ; 
birth, note, 191 ; nursery 
days, 193 ; serious illness, 
196; his great-grandfather’s 
last words to him, 197 ; 
becomes King of France, 

198 ; first months of the 
reign, 199 ; visits St. Cyr, 
200; parts from Madame 
de Ventadour, 201 ; de¬ 
scribed by Dubois, 202 ; 
and by Charlotte Elisa¬ 
beth, 203 ; his religious 
character, 204 ; his be¬ 
trothal, 205 ; meets his 
fiancee, 207 ; his corona¬ 
tion, 208 ; his engagement 
broken, 209; an English 
match proposed, 210; 
marries Marie Leczinska, 
211 ; distaste for State 
affairs, 213 ; his children, 
215 ; loses a son and 
daughter, 216 ; children’s 
education, 217 ; his illness 
in 1744, 219; orders the 
portraits of his daughters, 
220; meets Madame de 
Pompadour, 221 ; recalls 
his daughters to Court, 
222 ; daily interviews, 223 ; 
despair at Henriette's ill- 
health, 225 ; his daughter 
Louise devoted to him, 228 ; 
arranges the Dauphin’s 





310 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


marriage, 229 ; the death 
of the Dauphin and his 
wife, 233 ; meets Madame 
du Barry, 234; his last 
illness, 237 ; death, 238 ; 
children's affection, 239 
Louis XVI, his birth, note, 230 ; 
eldest surviving son of the 
Dauphin, 232 ; is seen by 
Horace Walpole, 233 ; his 
Aunt Adelaide’s favourite, 
234 ; boyhood, 235 ; mar¬ 
riage, 236 ; becomes King 
of France, 240; his fine 
qualities, 241 ; devotion 
of his sister, 242 ; under¬ 
stands his wife's char¬ 
acter, 244 ; births of his 
children, 245 ; devotion 
to the first Dauphin, 249 ; 
opens the States-General, 
251; grief for the Dauphin’s 
death, 252 ; appears at the 
Guards’ banquet, 253 ; 
dangerous result, 254 ; at¬ 
tacked at Versailles, 255 ; 
acute danger, 256; faces 
the mob, 257 ; taken 
prisoner, 258 ; life in Paris, 
259; attempt to escape, 
260; delays in starting, 
261 ; mismanagement, 262 ; 
betrayal, 263 ; assents to 
the new Constitution, 264 ; 
gives a garden to his son, 
265 ; signs decrees of 
Assembly, 266 ; riot of 
20 June, 1792, 267; riot 
of 16 August, 268 ; quits 
the Tuileries, 269 ; hears 
the firing begin, 270 ; 
carried to the Temple, 271 ; 
lodged in the tower, 272 ; 
uncomfortable quarters, 
273 ; prison life, 274 ; 
separate apartment pre¬ 
pared, 275 ; hopes of in¬ 
vasion, 276 ; faces the idea 
of death, 277; separated 
from his family, 278 ; his 
death, 279 ; Marie Antoin¬ 
ette cannot pass his room, 
281; his son not allowed 


to wear mourning, 283 ; his 
son’s sword, 296 ; death 
of his sister Elisabeth, 297 
Louis XVII, his birth and 
death, note, 244; happy 
childhood, 246; his 
mother’s description of him, 
250 ; people demand to see 
him, 252 ; goes to the 
regimental banquet, 253 ; 
enthusiastic reception, 254 ; 
scene at Versailles, 256; 
terrible drive to Paris, 258 ; 
life at the Tuileries, 259 ; 
attempted escape, 260; 
confusion and mistakes, 
261 ; amused by the 
journey, 262 ; the return 
to Paris, 263 ; prisoner 
again, 264 ; his garden at 
the Tuileries, 265; game 
with his mother, 266; 
wears the red cap, 267 ; 
he “ loves the nation,” 
268 ; leaves the Tuileries, 
269; at the Feuillants, 

270 ; drive to the Temple, 

271 ; the tower, 273 ; 
his education, 274 ; shares 
his mother’s room, 275 ; 
daily walk, 276; lessons 
with his father, 277 ; his 
father’s last advice, 279 ; 
a song for the prisoners, 
280 ; his illness, 281 ; 
hailed as King in La Vendee, 
282 ; is taken from his 
mother, 283 ; she sees him 
for the last time, 284; 
his miniature treasured, 
285; his mother’s last 
letter, 286 ; counsel, 287 ; 
not told of his mother’s 
death, 288 ; he sings re¬ 
volutionary songs, 289 ; his 
life with Simon, 290 ; in¬ 
dulgences granted, 291 ; 
possibly killed 19 Janu¬ 
ary, 1794, 292 ; Simon 
instructed to “ get rid of 
him,” 293 ; never seen 
again by friends, 294 ; 
Spain demands the prisoner, 




INDEX 


311 


295 ; his sword at the 
Invalides, 296 
Louis XVIII, 235, 259, 286 
Louis Philippe, King of the 
French, 265 

Louvre, the, Francis I starts 
collections of, 19 ; Mar¬ 
guerite d’Angouleme visits 
her brother there, 48; 
Charles IX has a studio 
there, 68 ; Francis II and 
his wife there, 77 ; on St. 
Bartholomew’s Eve, 95 ; 
the massacre watched from 
the windows, 97 ; Isabelle 
de France there, 102 ; the 
palace opposite, 117; 

Henri IV spends his last 
days there, 119; leaves 
the palace, 120 ; carried 
back there, 121 ; lies in 
state there, 122 ; life of 
Louis XIII there, 128 ; 
Louis XIII and his wife 
live there, 139 ; deserted 
by royal family, 145 ; 

Queen of England installed 
there, 149 ; Parliament 
summoned there, 158 ; 

Louis XIV reopens the 
palace, 159 ; compared with 
Versailles, 173 ; Louis XIV 
receives his fiancee there, 
207 

Lu9on, Bishop of. See Riche¬ 
lieu 

Luynes, Charles Albert Seigneur 
de, 129, 132, 133 
due de, 215 

Lyons, 21, 23, 43, 45, 90, 107 

Madrid, 29, 206, 209 
Chateau de, 117 
Maine, due de, 176 
Maintenon, Madame de, 175, 
176, 177, 181, 186, 187, 
188, 190, 193, 194, 198, 200 
Mancini, Hortense, 160 
Laura, 160 
Madame, 148 
Marie, 148, 149, 160, 161 
Marat, 276, 281 
Margaret of Austria, 33, 35 


Margot, Queen. See Valois- 
Angouleme Marguerite de, 
daughter of Henri II 

Maria, Infanta of Spain, 
daughter of Philip III, 
136 

of Portugal, wife of Philip II 
of Spain, 74 

Theresa, daughter of Philip 
IV of Spain, wife of Louis 
XIV, 178, 179 

Marie Anne de Bavi6re, wife of 
the Grand Dauphin, son of 
Louis XIV, 167, 178, 179, 
180, 185 

Antoinette, loyalty of Madame 
du Barry to, 234 ; her 
marriage to the Dauphin, 
afterwards Louis XVI, 235 ; 
accident at her wedding 
festivities, 236; discards 
Court customs, 237 ; is 
Queen of France, 240 ; 
her character, 241 ; choice 
of friends, 242; devotion 
of Axel de Fersen, 243 ; 
caprice and extravagance, 

244 ; births of her children, 

245 ; receives a deputation, 

246 ; leads a simple life, 

247 ; educates her children, 

248 ; devotion to the first 
Dauphin, 249 ; death of 
the baby Sophie, 250 ; 
death of the Dauphin, 
Louis Joseph, 251 ; her 
grief, 252 ; scene at a 
banquet, 253 ; foresees re¬ 
sults, 254; last day at 
Petit Trianon, 255 ; faces 
the mob on the balcony 
at Versailles, 256 ; courage 
in danger, 257; taken 
prisoner, 258 ; life at the 
Tuileries, 259 ; attempted 
escape, 260; delay in 
starting, 261 ; the return 
to Paris, 263 ; dwindling 
Court, 264 ; pride in her 
children, 265 ; scene with 
the Dauphin, 266; puts 
the red cap on the 
Dauphin, 267 ; her kindly 






312 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


grace, 268 ; quits the 
Tuileries, 269 ; in the 
Parliament Hall, 270 ; 
carried to the Temple, 271 ; 
lodged in the tower, 272 ; 
attends herself to her chil¬ 
dren, 273 ; arranges daily 
routine, 274 ; parting with 
Princesse de Lamballe, 275 ; 
belief in help from the 
Powers, 276; the day's 
routine, 277 ; separated 
from her husband, 278 ; 
execution of her husband, 
279 ; the night after, 280 ; 
increased severity of her 
imprisonment, 281 ; her 
son taken from her, 282 ; 
her grief and resignation, 
283 ; taken to the Con- 
ciergerie, 284 ; her trial, 
285 ; her last letter, 286 ; 
calmness and resignation, 
287 ; her death, 288 ; her 
children not informed, 289 ; 
devotion of Madame Elisa¬ 
beth, 297 ; her daughter 
hears of her death, 298 
Marie Jos6pha, daughter of the 
Elector of Saxony, wife of 
Dauphin Louis, son of 
Louis XV, 213, 229, 230, 
235, 242 

Louise Gabrielle de Savoie, 
wife of Philip V of Spain, 
178 

TherSse of Austria, 235 

Therdse, daughter of Philip V 
of Spain, 213 

Th6r6se, Infanta of Spain, 
wife of Louis XIV, 161, 162, 
165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 172, 
174, 176 

Th6r6se of Spain, wife of 
Louis, Dauphin, son of 
Louis XV, 229 
Marignano, 20 
Marlborough, 190 
Marie, due de, no 
Marly, 188, 192, 194, 209, 224 
Marot, C 16 ment, 86 
Martinozzi, Madame, 148 
Mary I of England, 74, 75 


Mary of England, Princess, 
wife of Louis XII, 14, 
15 

Queen of Scots, comes to 
France, 57 ; her life at 
Court, 58 ; playmates, 59 ; 
friendship for Princess 
Elisabeth, 60; journeys, 
61 ; her education, 62 ; 
Latin theme, 64; her 
marriage to the Dauphin, 
72 ; wedding dress, 73 ; 
is Queen of France, 77 ; 
retreats to Amboise, 80 ; 
witnesses executions, 81 ; 
last months of her marriage, 

82 ; death of her husband, 

83 ; forty days of mourn¬ 
ing, 84 

Massillon, 204 

Maximilian II, Emperor, 92 

Mazarin, Cardinal, 145, 146, 

147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 
152, 153 , I 54 > 155 , 156, 
158, 160, 162, 163, 165 

Medici, Catherine de’, her 
marriage to the due 
d’Orl6ans, 41 ; brilliant 
wedding scenes, 42 ; makes 
friends with the King, 43 ; 
her dark record, 51 ; love 
for her husband, 52 ; is 
supplanted, 53 ; birth of 
her son, 54 ; her triumph, 
55 ; birth of eldest 
daughter, 56; a new 
Queen, 57 ; birth of other 
children, 60 ; ideas of edu¬ 
cation, 63 ; scolds her son 
Henri, 65 ; influence on her 
children, 68 ; treatment of 
Charles IX, 69 ; devotion 
to Henri III, 70; pre¬ 
ference resented, 71 ; pre¬ 
sent at the Dauphin's 
wedding, 72 ; mortal in¬ 
jury of her husband, 76 ; 
is left a widow, 77 ; can¬ 
not stop persecutions, 79 ; 
witnesses executions at 
Amboise, 81 ; death of her 
eldest son, 84 ; letter to 
her daughter Elisabeth, 85 ; 




INDEX 


313 


her weakness, 86 ; forbids 
Guise the Court, 87 ; 
travels in France, 89 ; visits 
Queen of Spain, 90 ; turns 
homeward, 91 ; her per¬ 
sonal appearance, 92 ; 
jealousy of Coligny, 93 ; 
her panic fears, 95 ; makes 
plans for St. Bartholomew’s 
Eve, 96 ; keeps the King 
to his purpose, 97 ; satis¬ 
faction in the crime, 98 ; 
loses her influence over 
Charles IX, 99 ; contempt 
of her son Henri, 101 ; 
neglects Isabelle de France, 
102 ; death of her son 
Alenin, 103 ; her death, 
104 ; capricious affections, 
112 

Medici, Lorenzo de’, 21 

Marie de’, wife of Henri IV, 
her marriage, 107; birth 
of first son, 108 ; births of 
her other children, 109 ; 
indifference towards her 
children, m ; want of 
understanding, 112 ; men¬ 
tioned in her son’s letter, 
114; her dress at her 
children’s baptism, 116 ; 
insists on her coronation, 

119 ; frantic grief at the 
King's death, 121 ; claims 
undivided authority, 122 ; 
tyranny over her son, 
Louis XIII, 124 ; promises 
Gaston an heiress in mar¬ 
riage, 127 ; present at the 
meeting of States-General, 
129 ; her favourites the 
Concini, 132 ; cannot save 
their lives, 133 ; exiled to 
Blois and reconciled with 
her son, 134 ; plans Gaston's 
marriage, 138 
Mendoza, Cardinal, 78 
Meudon, 167, 188, 195, 244, 251, 
255, 280 

Milan, 11, 19, 25, 28 
Minden, battle of, 232 
Mirabeau, 291 
Mirepoix, Bishop of, 229 


Mittau, 298 

Monglat, Madame de, in, 114, 
117, 120, 126, 134, 135 
Montargis, 186 
Montbazon, due de, 120 
Montecuculi, Count of, 44 
Montespan, Madame de, 175, 
176, 179 

Montgomery, Captain of Scottish 
Guard, 76 

Montmorency, Anne de, 7 
family of, 72 

Montpensier, Charles de, 7 
Marie Louise de. La Grande 
Mademoiselle, her birth, 
139 ; precocity, 140 ; 
scolded by Richelieu, 141 ; 
personal habits, 153 ; leads 
the rebellion of the Fronde, 
154 ; worshipped by the 
populace, 156; an un¬ 
fortunate life, 170; her 
warlike spirit, 174 ; de¬ 
scribes the Dauphine’s 
dress, 178 

Marie de Bourbon, Duchesse 
de, 108, 126, 127, 138, 139 
Montpipeau, 63 
Montreuil, 255 
Motte, Marechale de la, 180 
Motteville, Madame de, 147, 
148, 152, 161 

“ Mousseline la SSrieuse.” 
See Bourbon, Marie 
Th6r£se, daughter of 
Louis XVI 

Muette, park of La, 200, 247, 248 
Nantes, 138 

Napoleon Buonaparte, 265, 284, 
294, 299 

National Guard, 255, 256, 259, 
265, 269 
Nattier, 220 

Navarre, Henri d’Albret, King 
of, 37, 40, 72, iro 
Henri, King of. See Henri 
IV 

Madame de. See Tourzel, 
Madame de, 275 
Nemours, 187 
due de, 86 

Noailles, Comtesse de, 236 




314 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


Notre-Dame, 46, 72, 76, 94, 115, 
137, 204, 214 

at Versailles, Church of, 251 

Orleans, Alexandre Louis d’, son 
of Philippe, due d’, 171 
Anna Maria d\ daughter of 
Philippe, due d’, 171 
Castle of, 82, 83, 84 
Charles d’, due d’Angouleme, 
father of Francis I, 2 
Charles, due d’, son of 
Francois I, 20, 21, 23, 24, 
31, 42, 44, 48, 49, 55 
Charlotte Elisabeth, Duchesse 
d', wife of Philippe due 
d’Orl£ans, 140, 165, 169, 
171, 175, 185, 202 
Elisabeth Charlotte d’, 
daughter of Philippe 
d’Orleans, 171 

Gaston, due d'. See Bourbon, 
Gaston, son of Henri IV 
Louis d’. See Louis XII 
Louis, due d ’,son of Charles V, 4 
Marie Louise d’, daughter of 
Philippe, due d’, 171 
Marie Louise Elisabeth d’, 
daughter of Philippe, due d\ 
178 

N. de France, son of Philippe, 
due d', 171 

Philippe de Bourbon, due d’, 
140, 141, 143, 145, 147, 

149, 156, 162, 165, 171, 
204, 205, 207, 208, 209 
Philippe, due d’, 224 

“ Orpheline du Temple.” See 
Bourbon, Marie TMrese de, 
daughter of Louis XVI 

Palais Royal, 145, 147, 150, 151, 
1 53 > I 55> 159, 162, 204, 205 

Palloi, 275 

Paris, 14, 58, 72, 73, 76, 87, 91, 
94 . 95 . 97 . 98, 104, 112, 115, 
119, 123, 126, 129, 132, 141, 
*44. 148, 149, 150, 152, 154, 

155 , 156, 158, 173, 174. 183, 

188, 195, 199, 200, 201, 206, 
207, 214, 218, 221, 224, 235, 
242, 247, 252, 254, 255, 
257. 258, 259, 263, 264 


Paris, Comte de, 265 
Parma, Duchesse de. See 
Bourbon, Louise Elisabeth, 
daughter of Louis XV 
Passe, Sieur de la, 128 
Pavia, 28 
Pedraza, 33, 34 

Peter the Great, Tsar, 201, 202 
Petite Bande, 17, 43 
Pez6, Chevalier de, 203, 204 
Philip II of Spain, 54, 60, 74, 
75. 76. 78, 86, 90, 98 
Philip III of Spain, 74 
Philip IV of Spain, 108, 129, 131, 
172 

Philip V of Spain, 205, 206, 208, 
213 

Philippe, son of Philip V of 
Spain, 213, 224, 225 
Piedmont, Victor Amadeus, 
Prince of, 108, 134 
Plessis-les-Tours, 3, 11, 39 
Poisson, Jeanne. See Pompa¬ 
dour, Madame de 
Poitiers, 129 

Polignac, Duchesse de, 279 
Pompadour, Madame de, 221, 
226, 233, 234 
Preches, 86 

Provence, Comte de. See 
Louis XVIII 
Prussia, 266 

Queen of Navarre. See Albret, 
Jeanne d’; Angouleme, 
Marguerite d’; Valois- 
Angouleme, Marguerite de 
Queen of Portugal. See 
Eleonore, wife of Francis I 
Queen of Scots. See Mary, 
Queen of Scots 

Rambouillet, Madame de, 153 
Rameau, 229 
Reims, 123, 159, 208 
Renaudie, Jean de Bari, Sieur 
de la, 79 

Retz, Cardinal de, 164 
Comte de, 93 

Richard, Coeur de Lion, his tomb, 
220 

Madame, 284 

I Richelieu, Armand Jean du 




INDEX 


315 


Plessis, 129, 133, 134, 138, 
140, 142, 145, i 53 
Richelieu, due de, 203, 204 
Rivoli, Rue de, 270 
Robespierre, 281, 282, 286, 293, 
297 

Rochechouart, Mile, Abbess of 
Fontevralt, 218, 219 
Rocher, Madame. See Marie 
Antoinette, 261 
Rome, 227 

Ronsard, Pierre de, 19, 46, 47, 
68 

Rosalie, servant at the Con- 
ciergerie, 284 

Royale, Madame. See Bourbon, 
Marie Therese, daughter of 
Louis XVI 
Rueil, 155 

Sablons, les, 243 
St. Aignan, Church of, 82 
St. Andrews, 47 
St. Antoine, rue, 204 
St. Augustine, Convent of, 129 
St. Bartholomew’s Eve, 92, 95, 
96 , 97 , 98, 276 
St. Cloud, 162, 165, 171, 259 
St. Cyr, 188, 198, 200 
St. Denis, 14, 15, 26, 84, 103, 
104, 118, 119, 120, 142, 

171, 199, 224, 226, 238, 

251 

Convent of, 228, 237, 238 
St. Franfois de Paule, 3 
St. Germain, Palace of, Franfois 
I married there, 13 ; Mary, 
Queen of Scots, lives there, 
60 ; Catherine de’ Medici 
retreats there as a widow, 
77 ; home of Henri IV and 
his family, 111; the 
Dauphin, son of Henri IV, 
goes there, 114 ; the royal 
nursery there, 117 ; N. de 
France lives there, 125 ; 
and dies there, 126 ; Court 
theatricals there, 127; 
Louis XIV born there, 140 ; 
his babyhood there, 141 ; 
St. Denis visible from the 
windows, 142 ; the old 
chateau and the new, 143 ; 


Louis XIII dies there, 144 ; 
the old chateau lent to 
Queen Marie Henriette, 
149 ; flight of Louis XIV 
thither, 156 ; Philippe, son 
of Louis XIV, born there, 
169 ; compared with Ver¬ 
sailles, 173 

St. Germain l’Auxerrois, Church 
of, 97 

St. Jean de Luz, 162 
St. Louis, Church of, at Ver¬ 
sailles, 251 

St. Simon, due de, 206 
Sainte Marthe, 9 
Sainte Menehould, 262 
Salmbach, 191 
Santa Cruz, marquis de, 209 
Santerre, 266, 267, 279 
Sardinia, King of, Victor 
Amadeus III, 200 
Prince of Piedmont, King of, 
230, 233 

Queen of. See Bourbon, 
Marie A. C. Xavier, daughter 
of Louis, Dauphin, son of 
Louis XV 

Sauce, Madame, 263 
Saulac, 84 

Sauve, Madame, 231 
Savoie, Charles III of Lorraine, 
due de, 75, 77 
due de, 2 

Louise de, births of her chil¬ 
dren, 2 ; linked with Anne 
de Bretagne, 3; her 
brilliant gifts, 4; resents 
royal interference, 5 ; chil¬ 
dren's education, 6; en¬ 
courages art and learning, 

9 ; parts with her children, 

10 ; present at her son’s 
betrothal to Claude de 
France, n ; her Court, 12 ; 
not present at her son’s 
marriage, 13 ; alternations 
of hope and fear about her 
son’s succession to the 
throne, 14 ; she sees him 
King of France, 15 ; wit¬ 
nesses adventure with wild 
boar, 20 ; is made Regent, 
20; has charge of her 




316 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


grandchildren, 22 ; goes 
to Romorantin, 26 ; Fran¬ 
cois I writes to her after the 
battle of Pavia, 28 ; grief 
at parting with her grand¬ 
sons, 32 ; contrives the 
“ Ladies' Peace ” at Cam- 
brai, 33 ; her death, 39 
Savoie, Marie Adelaide de, 
duchesse de Bourgogne, 178, 
185, 186, 187, 188, 191, 192, 
193 , 195 

Marie Therdse de, wife of 
Charles X, 258 
Victor Amadeus II of, 171 
Scarron, Madam. See Main- 
tenon, Madame de 
Paul, 175 
Sceaux,190 
Scollier, Michel, 22 
S6n6c6, Madame de, 146 
Senlis, Bishop of, 84 
Sens, Hotel de, 117 
Simon, 283, 290, 292, 293, 294, 

295, 296 

Madame, 283, 290 
Soriot, Laurens, 22 
Sos, Pierre de, 22 
Souvre, M. de, 117, 122, 126, 
128 

Stanislas, King of Poland, 210 
States-General, 129, 251 
Stuart, Charles Edward, 225 
Sully, 119 

Tallard, Duchesse de, 215 
Taylor, Dr. John, 32 
Tellier, Pdre, 177 
Temple, Palace of the, 271, 272, 
294 

Tison, 275 
Toledo, 78 
Touchet, Marie, 92 
Tournelles, Palace of, 77 
Tourneville, 7 
Tournon, Chateau of, 44 
Tours, 3, 6, 134 

Tourzel, Marquise de, 253, 258, 
260, 261, 262, 269 
Pauline de, 275 

Tower of the Temple, the, 244, 
272, 277, 279, 288, 290, 
292,293,294,297,298 


Trianon, 236, 237 
Petit, 247, 255, 263 
Trieste, 214, 226, 227 
Tuileries, the, Louis XIII 
hawks there, 128 ; resi¬ 
dence of Gaston d'Orleans, 
139 ; home of La Grande 
Mademoiselle, 141 ; home 
Gif Philippe d‘Orleans and 
Henrietta of England, 162 ; 
Louis XV plays in the 
gardens, 199 ; and on the 
terrace* 203 ; boyhood 
passed there, 205 ; deter¬ 
mination of revolutionaries 
to keep Louis XVI and his 
wife there, 254 ; drive to 
the Palace from Versailles, 
258 ; imprisonment there, 
259; escape of royal 
family, 260 ; the Queen’s 
circle there, 264 ; the 
Dauphin’s garden there, 
265 ; riot of 20 June, 
1792, 267 ; riot of 16 

August, 1792, 268 ; in the 
hands of the mob, 269; 
twice overwhelmed, 276; the 
boy of, 295; memories, 298 
Turquan, M. Joseph, 292 
Tuscany, Ferdinand, Grand 
Duke of, 107 
Grand Duchess of, 108 
Tusson, Convent of, 49 

Val-de-Grace, Convent of, 168 
Valence, 43 

Valli£re, Louise de la, 174, 175, 
179 

Valois, Anne de, daughter of 
Charles VIII, 3 
Charles de, second son of 
Charles VIII, 3 
Charles Orlando, Dauphin, 
son of Charles VIII, 3, 4 
due de, son of Philippe 
d’Orleans, 171 

Francois de, third son of 
Charles VIII, 3 

V alois - Angouleme, Charlotte 
de, daughter of Francois I, 
20, 21, 26, 27, 28 
Claude de, duchesse de 






INDEX 


317 


Lorraine, daughter of Henri 
II, 54 , 59 , 6o, 64, 73, 74, 
90, 96 

Valois-Angouleme, Elisabeth de, 
Queen of Spain, daughter of 
Henri II, birth, marriage; 
and death, note, 54 ; birth, 
56 ; loved by her mother, 
Catherine de’ Medici, 59 ; 
playmate of Mary Stuart, 
60; nursery events, 64 ; 
present at the marriage of 
the Dauphin and Mary 
Stuart, 73 ; her beauty and 
charm, 74 ; marriage pro¬ 
jects, 75 ; the wedding to 
Philip II, 76; travels to 
Spain, 78 ; her marriage 
averts war with Spain, 79 ; 
letter from her mother, 85 ; 
visit from her family, 90 ; 
heart-broken farewells, 91 ; 
her death, 92 

Fran5ois de. Dauphin; son of 
Franjois I, 20, 21, 24, 26, 30, 
31, 32 , 33 , 34 , 35 , 36 , 37 , 

41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 52, 53 

Hercule Franfois de, due 

d’Alen^on, son of Henri II, 
54, 60, 63, 71, 73, 86, 88, 
94 , 103 

Isabelle de, daughter of 

Charles IX, 92, 98,101,102, 
103 

Jeanne de, daughter of Henri 
II, 54, 61 

Louis de, son of Henri II, 54, j 
60 

Louise de, daughter of 

Francis I, 20, 26 

Magdaleine de, daughter of 
Franfois I, wife of James V 
of Scotland, 20, 21, 24, 31, 

42, 45, 46, 47, 48, 72 

Marguerite de, daughter of 

Francis I, wife of the due 
de Savoie, 20, 21, 24, 31, 
42, 45, 75 , 77 

Marguerite de, daughter of 
Henri II and Queen of 
Navarre and France, birth, 
marriage, death, note, 54 ; 
birth, 60; dress as a child, 


64; her brother Henri 
endeavours to convert her 
to reformed faith, 65; 
marriage projects at five 
years old, 66 ; letter to her 
father, Henri II, 67; is 
present at the wedding of 
the Dauphin, her brother, 
73 ; in retreat at St. Ger¬ 
main, 77 ; adheres to the 
old faith, 86 ; her remark¬ 
able beauty, 88 ; her first 
love, 89 ; journey through 
France, 90; preparations 
for her wedding, 93 ; the 
Red Marriage, 94; St. 
Bartholomew’s Eve, 96; 
outlives her family, and is 
divorced, 105 ; visited by 
the royal children, 117 ; 
her death, 118 ; Louis XIII 
witnesses her stables burnt, 
128 

Victoire de, daughter of 
Henri II, 54, 61 

Valois-Orl6ans,Claude de, daugh¬ 
ter of Louis XII, wife of 
Franfois I, 10, it, 12, 13, 
14,16, 20, 21, 22, 25, 26, 45 
Ren6e de, daughter of Louis 
XII, 10 

Varennes, 262, 263, 264, 298 
Vassy, massacre at, 87 
Vaubernier, Marie Jeanne. See 
Barry, Madame du 
Vaudemont, Louise de, wife of 
Henri III, 54, 100 
Vendee, La, 282 
Vendome, Alexandre de, 122 
Duchesse de, 143 
Place, 271 

Ventadour, Madame de, 196, 
198, 199, 200, 201, 206, 207, 
209, 215 

Verdian, battle of, 276 
Vermandois, comte de, 179 
Versailles, one reason for the 
building, 142 ; wolves de¬ 
stroyed, 171 ; once a small 
hunting lodge, 172 ; Louis 
XIV builds the palace, 173 ; 
the due de Bourgogne born 
there, 179; children of 




318 


CHILDREN OF FRANCE 


France reared there, 180 ; 
the due de Bourgogne 
married there, 187; the 
menagerie, 188; Philip V 
of Spain leaves the palace, 
190 ; isolation, 192 ; de¬ 
pression at Court, 194; 
due and duchesse de Bour¬ 
gogne die there, 195 ; also 
their two sons, 196 ; Louis 
XIV dies there, 198; 
Louis XV leaves the palace, 
199 ; the Spanish Infanta 
sent away, 209 ; Duchess 
of Parma dies there, 213 ; 
disappointment at births 
of daughters, 214 ; Princess 
Adelaide's escape from, 216; 
royal children sent away, 
218 ; their portraits there, 
220; recalled to Court, 
222 ; Court life there, 223 ; 
Princess Louise Elisabeth 
married there, 224 ; stag¬ 
nant life there, 226; 
Dauphin, son of Louis XV, 


married there, 229 ; royal 
children born there, 230; 
the heir shown there, 231 ; 
Louis XVI married there, 
235 ; Louis XV's illness, 
237 ; his death there, 238 ; 
scene there, 240; new 
existence there, 243 ; births 
of royal children, 244 ; 
pageant, 245 ; Trianon pre¬ 
ferred, 247; Church of 
Notre Dame, 251 ; the 
Deputies' Council there, 

252 ; scene at a banquet, 

253 ; mob march thither, 

255 ; break into the palace, 

256 ; the King and Queen 
taken away, 257, 295, 298 

Vexin, comte de, 179 
Vienna, 298 

Villeroy, Marechal de, 199, 205 
Vincennes, 158, 199, 204 
Vittoria, 32 
Voltaire, 229 

Wolsey, 32 















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